


hold on, darling (home is wherever I'm with you)

by shafferthefirst



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Cuddling, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Family, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, More Fluff Than Storyline, Nightmares, Perthshire, Post 3x10, Some angst, Team Fluff, alternating povs, mentions of scars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-18
Updated: 2016-02-18
Packaged: 2018-05-21 13:14:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6052912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shafferthefirst/pseuds/shafferthefirst
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"We could make it slow down, you know," she continues. "We could decide when."</p><p>This nearly knocks the wind out of him. So much that he removes his head from where it's pillowed atop hers to peer down at her. "What are you saying? We just...run away?"</p><p>-</p><p>Or, in which Jemma and Fitz find Perthshire and a little something more. Inspired by a fanmix.</p>
            </blockquote>





	hold on, darling (home is wherever I'm with you)

**Author's Note:**

> The tracklist of my fanmix that this fic coordinates with, which you will probably want to follow along with, can be found here: http://jemmaswan.tumblr.com/post/134619332734
> 
> Ahh it's finally finished! This is the biggest and craziest thing I have ever done for this fandom and I'm very excited to finally share it with everyone after keeping it under wraps for so long :)
> 
> Special thanks to Cindy (Anthropologicality) for being my cheerleader for the past 2 months and helping me decide on a title amongst other things and just being amazing support. You are the real MVP. 
> 
> The first part of the title is from Mess is Mine by Vance Joy and the second is from Home by Edward Sharpe & The Magnetic Zeros.

 

She's smiled some; that's a turn of events.

 

Of course, to the general audience of the team, that's good. Smiling is good, right? Especially after the hardships she has faced, smiling is a _really_ good sign for their friend.

 

But he knows each and every one of her smiles, and has for over a decade. True, he's still learning the meanings behind some of them that he overlooked before…well, before.

 

But he knows _this_ smile she's wearing these days. He could probably write a small column in the Jemma Simmons Encyclopedia about this particular expression on its own; she's used it that much.

 

It's his least favorite smile of hers.

 

It's his least favorite smile of hers because he knows it's only the surface, and there's a storm waiting it out beneath, ready to lose control at any moment. But until the inevitable, that smile fiercely holds the pause button down with quivering fingers.

 

If she doesn't find a way to let go, she's going to break.

 

And this time around, he's afraid of what's to follow.

 

 

-

-

 

 

_**i.** _ **_**I** know places we can hide_ **

 

It's the eighth night in a row they've done this. Sharing her twin bed. It's not intentional, but it works for them. They do their jobs, hold small conversations in passing and with the team, save the world on some level of a rippling effect, nearly die in the process, shrug it off, exchange a look, a nod, and hold each other in silence until the sun rises once again. No words are exchanged in these sacred quiet hours. What words could be? It's just head over heart and eyelashes in hair and two slow, consistent breaths.

 

It's an odd sort of a situation, but it works nonetheless.

 

Until the ninth night, she speaks.

 

"Do you think it's ever going to be easier?"

 

He almost wants to pretend he didn't hear it, not wanting to make it any worse for her when he doesn't have a helpful answer to her question she's clearly been chewing on for a while, except for the fact that it's the only sound in their little enclosure. And he knows she knows he heard her, because her ear is rested directly above his heart, and they both felt his even thumping pick up speed at the sound of her voice. So, there's that factor.

 

"Honestly? I don't know." He pauses, swallowing hard. "I used to think so, one day, it would slow down. But..."

 

"The concept of _when_ that could be makes it harder to grasp." She finishes for him. He nods, cheek against her hair.

 

They both stay quiet for a long time. Such a long time that Fitz thinks, for a moment, she might have fallen asleep.

 

"We could make it slow down, you know." The thumping spikes again but she continues. "We could decide _when_."

 

This nearly knocks the wind out of him. So much that he removes his head from where it's pillowed atop hers to peer down at her. "What are you saying? We just...run away?"

 

Abruptly, Jemma glances up from his chest to his face. "Not permanently!" She jumps a little at the infliction of her own snap. Voice smaller, she adds, "Just...for a little while. Take a step back for a moment." She sighs, sightline falling back to its original spot. "I know…it's crazy. They need us here. It was just a thought. Goodnight, Fitz."

 

He takes a long moment to process what she's just laid out on the table before taking a shuddering breath, reaching over to flick on his bedside lamp to fully look at her, so she can't mask her emotions with the dark. "But you won't heal here."

 

She tilts her head again, eyes confused.

 

"You'll just keep going at it. Biting it down, shoving it away, ignoring it until it blows up in your face again, like you always do." Fitz runs his fingers through her hair and the gentle concern he wears on his face makes her chest tighten. "But it’s just going to get harder on you the more you refuse to process."

 

She remains silent, but he knows she knows he's right.

 

"I suppose that's true," she finally says. "What do you think we should do about it?"

 

Jemma has given him these words before. Tore them out of her notebook on a page with perforated edges and folded it elegantly for his eyes only. It's a precious thing, the rare opportunity to be invited to see her innermost thoughts and feelings. He's touched that it occurs more and more often these days.

 

"I think...it would be good for you. To get away for some time."

 

"And what about you?"

 

"What about me?"

 

She huffs in frustration and rolls onto her stomach, left arm propping herself up on his chest to face him fully. "You've been through a lot too. And you need to recover as much as I do."

 

He thinks otherwise, but bows his head in agreement anyway.

 

She rests her chin on her hands. "So, are we really doing this? Could we really just step out and leave it all, even if it's temporarily?" Her eyes are soft, vulnerable, peering up into his expectantly like she's just given him her whole, literal, ever aching heart to hold in his hands and somewhere inside she's afraid he might break it. Like she's asking too much of him and it's killing her. Again. "You'd...you'd walk away for me?"

 

He quickly tucks a strand of hair behind her ear to remedy that exposed feeling before she has a chance to retract it and hide it away from plain sight. She eases.

 

"Of course I would," he says firmly. "For you, for me, for us."

 

"For us," she repeats, and he can tell she likes the sound of that from the hint of a grin playing at the corners of her lips.

 

He smooths a hand down her spine and up again a few times, her eyes shutting briefly in pleasure at the contact. They still droop a little when she reopens them.

 

"Go to sleep, Jem," he whispers, and she doesn't have to be told twice. She settles her face into the crook of his neck and yawns. "Just, don't fuss about this, yeah? Let me handle everything."

 

Normally, she'd interject and put forth her own ideas into the mix, but she's honestly too tired to even think about it any more than she needs to.

 

"Okay," she says. And that's that.

 

 

-

-

 

 

  ** _ii_** **. _when our hands and voices are sold to a world so overgrown, it's moving so fast we should slow down_**

 

In hindsight, the brilliant idea of running away for an unspecified amount of time could have been kept hush-hush. Just pack light, sneak out before dawn through one of the Playground's secret tunnels with clasped hands and never look back. Easy peasy.

 

But, though it was her idea, Jemma couldn't bear the thought of leaving without saying goodbye. They'd been through hell and back with this group, literally. And none of them deserve waking up to find their teammates gone without a trace. Not again.

 

Plus, where they're going...they'll need a plane.

 

It isn't hard to convince Coulson to relieve them at all, much to his surprise. And with a few higher authority strings pulled, his scientists are granted extended access to the temporary home Fitz had selected previously, his treat.

 

"For every time the two of you nearly gave your lives for this job when you shouldn't have had to," the director explains. "Consider it a really, really big bonus."

 

"Sir, you have no idea what this means," Fitz says, peering out his office window to glance at his partner, forcing an expression not reflecting her what she's feeling beneath it as she speaks to an agent in passing.

 

"I think I have an idea." He places a comforting hand on his shoulder, bringing his attention back to him. "I’m serious, Fitz. Don't worry about us here. We'll manage. Take as much time as you need and work on yourselves. I want you back in tip-top shape."

 

"Take care of each other," May orders fondly, rising from her seat behind them.

 

For the first time in a while, he genuinely smiles. "You won't have to worry about that."

 

"Good," she nods. "Wheels up in one hour."

 

-

 

Fifty minutes later, Daisy and Bobbi are helping them carry their boxes to the cargo hold. Living on the Bus and moving from there to the Playground has taught the lot of them to keep their belongings to a minimum, hold more value in a smaller number of things, but in this case, they think it's okay to bring the last boxes in the backs of their closets with them. They need to relearn that holding possessions is not a bad thing.

 

After tear-inducing hugs and promises to Skype at least once a week, the team bids Fitz and Jemma farewell, waving until the loading dock is completely sealed.

 

After they settle into a stable altitude, Jemma wanders off to join May in the cockpit, leaving him to his thoughts and a previously abandoned game on his tablet he's just remembered he can actually play now. Without the world collapsing at his feet every time he sits down, that is.

 

"Hey," she says warmly, makes herself known as she slides into the passenger seat. The pilot smirks in response without looking up from where her gaze is fixed.

 

"Did Fitz tell you where you're going?" May asks after a beat.

 

"No, but I think I have an idea."

 

"I won't confirm or deny it, but you have three hours until then.”

 

Jemma nods, looking out at the clouds in the afternoon sky and then down at the cities below them. Quickly deciding that she’s still not fond of heights, she adverts her eyes back to May. “This will be good for us, right?”

 

The older agent gives her a knowing glance. “You tell me.” She watches Jemma’s gaze fall to her lap in uncertainty, thumbs running over her knuckles. Sighing, she adds, “Jemma.”

 

“Yes?”

 

“You two deserve this and so much more, and you don’t have to feel guilty about it. Okay?”

 

“Yeah,” she aims for a light tone but falls flat upon really thinking about it. “It’s just, there’s so much to be done here, and the team is losing _both_ of us for who knows how long…I can’t help it.”

 

“But you can’t help us until you help yourself first.”

 

“I suppose that’s true,” she sighs. “But-”

 

Noticing the gears still turning in her head, May fully faces her then. “Don’t belittle your own experiences by comparing them to ours. You went through a lot, Simmons; there’s no denying that.” Jemma doesn’t argue anymore, choosing to put the subject to bed for the time being. “Now, get some rest. You have a big day ahead of you.”

 

“Thought the point of going was to get said rest,” Jemma mumbles, but she receives that look again and sighs, defeated. “I know, you’re right.” She slides out of the seat to seek out the other passenger on board, but not before stopping to hesitantly place her hand on May’s shoulder. “Thank you, May. For everything.”

 

“My pleasure,” she says back. It’s not often that Melinda May passes out one of her warm, genuine smiles. They’re rare and to be treasured by the recipient, for they mean more than anyone will ever know. So, Jemma cannot help but feel comforted by this one directed to her as she turns to exit their small space. She carries it with her for the rest of the evening.

 

-

 

She finds Fitz where she left him, only having switched his tablet for a notepad as he sketches away with his tongue barely peeking from between his teeth. Momentarily transported back to the many, many times she’d found him in the exact same position in his dorm room and beyond, Jemma settles herself in the seat next to him and he immediately closes it to sit up and give her a grin.

 

“Oh, don’t stop on my account,” she nudges his shoulder with hers. “Keep going.”

Her lips quirk upward as he shrugs and does as instructed, revealing the early designs for something she can’t quite make out yet but suspects it’s just for mind-numbing purposes.

 

She wants to say something more, about how relieved she is that they’re doing this and what it means to her and even that she loves him far more than she could ever express, but instead gets lost in the pattern of his pencil lining the paper and his fingers tracing the markings to darken them. It’s not long before her head droops and lands on his shoulder.

 

They’ll have plenty of time for that.

 

 

-

-

 

 

**_iii. bring me to your house and tell me sorry for the mess, hey, I don’t mind_ **

****

Jemma rouses from her sleep to the sensation of something tapping against her arm. She blinks a few times in her haze, yawns, and leans back on where it was pillowed once more. Or on whom, more specifically.

 

She’s dozing back off when she feels herself being lifted and carried somewhere else. The gesture is warm and comforting, not threatening, so she lets it happen while her eyes remain closed. Soon enough, she’s being lowered to what she’s assuming is the passenger seat of a car, verifying it when the seatbelt slides across her abdomen.

 

Fitz and May exchange hushed whispers that she can’t quite make out, and she only barely feels him press a kiss to the top of her head and a squeeze on the shoulder from May before shutting her door. She grins lazily, head lolling against the window, before drifting fully back to sleep once again.

 

-

 

About an hour later, she blinks back into consciousness.

 

“Welcome back,” he says cheerily. Ah, so he’s been watching. “Shouldn’t be too long now. We’re almost there.”

 

Her earlier suspicion is confirmed when she sees the city name on the GPS and her heart skips a beat. They sit in comforting silence for the remaining fifteen minutes until the screen declares their arrival as he pulls into the driveway and she gasps.

 

Before her stands the most beautiful little cottage she’s ever seen.

 

He scratches at the back of his neck anxiously. “Now, it’s probably not the one from your childhood, and it’s not much, and it doesn’t have to mean anything, but-”

 

“Fitz,” she interrupts. “Shut _up._ It’s _perfect.”_

 

“Right then,” he grins, sliding out of the car and picking up a suitcase from the passenger seat. She follows suit and they fall in step towards the cobblestone path to the front, noting the various plant life arranged about the yard. “Coulson has it covered, made all the arrangements; I just picked it out. We can stay as long as we need to.” She nods eagerly. “Now, I did speak with the owner, and he said the keys are right about…here.” He picks up the third stone outlining the walkway, revealing a pair of keys attached to the underside. He jingles them in triumph.

 

She follows him to the cozy-looking front porch, complete with a set of cushioned lounge chairs and a low table. Vines spread from the shrubbery and snake around the pillars supporting the roof, much to her delight. She mentally catalogues the little details, having gone without such small wondrous things for far too long.

 

“Wanna do the honors?” he asks, pulling her from her staring and holding out the keys. Grasping them in kind, Jemma ceremoniously takes her time in unlocking the front door, excitement warming her all around and casting a shadow over the anxiety.

 

She’s speechless as she peers around the interior. Fitz doesn’t know whether to take this as a good or bad sign, so he starts talking again to fill the silence.

 

“It’s a bit dusty,” he comments, patting down hard on the sofa cushion to prove his point. “No one’s used it in a while, according to the owner. It’s been in his family for decades, but he was trying to sell it with no such luck until Coulson asked to rent it. Didn’t take much convincing, I s’pose.”

 

Jemma traces the corner table’s edges and runs her fingers along the mantle of the fireplace. He’s right about the dust, but she can’t quite pinpoint exactly why anyone would want to sell it. It’s small, but so lovely and full of history that she can already tell it’s going to be exactly what they need.

 

Oblivious to the soft gaze she’s holding on him, Fitz continues mumbling out his tour. “The kitchen’s through here. It has an island; so that’s good, I guess, more counter space and all that. And down this hall leads to two separate bedrooms, one master and one smaller, each with their own bathroom. There’s a smaller bedroom the opposite way but I think it’s just used for storage really. But we don’t have much to store, y’know, after living on a plane and then the base for so long, so I don’t know what we’ll do with that.” He shakes his head. “I mean, not that we strictly _have_ to use every room, I just, thought it’d feel more homey if we did something to it. Even if it’s just for dirty laundry or something. Or a single DVD if it’s so important that we do. I don’t know.”

 

She lets out a soft chuckle at his awkwardness, grinning. “I’m sure we’ll make do.”

 

“Yeah,” he agrees. “So, what do you think?”

 

On instinct, Jemma surges forward and throws her arms around him, causing him to stumble back and release his grip on the suitcase to hug her back.

 

“I love it,” she murmurs into his shoulder. “Thank you, Fitz.”

 

“Really, Coulson did most-”

 

“It’s okay to give yourself some of the credit. You’re the one who found this place after all.” She lifts her head up to smile at him. “And not just for the cottage, for coming with me. For everything. Thank you.”

 

He blushes lightly. “Well, you’re welcome.”

 

She drops her head against him one last time, breathing in his familiar scent, before releasing him altogether. “Shall we unpack then?”

 

-

 

“I’m gonna try to get some sleep,” she announces that night, when the sky turns as black as the television after their _Jurassic Park_ marathon, where they had kept to sitting on opposite sides of the sofa but tilted their feet together on the coffee table by the second film.

 

“Okay,” he nods. “’Night.”

 

“Goodnight,” she agrees. Tea in hand, she pads to the master bedroom, only feeling a little twinge of disappointment when he doesn’t follow like he had for those two weeks at the Playground. _Boundaries, Jemma,_ she reminds herself. _We’re going to be here a while. He’s only setting boundaries, giving us a little space. That’s all._

 

She can hear him shuffle into the adjacent room not long after, but sticks to one side of the bed anyhow.

 

 

-

-

 

 

**_iv. lost in innocence, take this fragile heart, we know where we’ve been, all these miles together_ **

 

They fall into routine almost instantly, Jemma waking early to watch the sunrise, Fitz starting the tea once it’s up, alternating turns for making meals, and providing one another with various distractions for the remainder of the day. Anything to avoid conflict; they’ve suffered enough of it during the past two years to last a lifetime.

 

The first two weeks are long. Each day is full of countless board games and film trilogies, leisure trips around nearby towns and more pancakes than they’ve probably had in the past year combined. Though the latter might have to do with the fact that halfway through the first, they wordlessly and seamlessly shift into preparing them together each morning, a system perfected seemingly eons ago when the weight of the world was far from their shoulders. Regardless, neither complains, for it’s a daily excuse to work elbow to elbow once again that they would be lying if they said they didn’t look forward to. Plus, it’s pancakes.

 

When they aren’t tiptoeing around each other, Fitz keeps to the scrap metals and few tools he brought along to tinker with, while Jemma has made it her self-proclaimed quest to find everyone occupying the Playground a souvenir, no matter how long it may take her.

 

(“Really? Even down to the last lab hand?” he’d asked her when she started, following her around aimlessly as she browsed through isles of colorful mugs and flashy magnets. “Do you even know their names? ‘Cause I don’t, to be honest. It’s a bit embarrassing.”

 

That was bullshit and she knew it, but also knew he was only trying to make her feel better about the time and faces she’d missed. _“Everybody_ gets something,” she declared, and that was that, adding a pretty snow globe for Daisy to her basket already featuring a baseball cap for Coulson, an “I ♡ Perthshire” bear for Hunter and a growing plethora of mismatched key chains for the agents she didn’t spend much time with but were still worthy of something from the outside.

 

Not for the first time, he was taken aback by the unwavering kindness she possessed then and now and everywhere in between in her fragile heart. And for that, he let her be.)

 

So, to this simple routine they stick, keeping a steady pace and letting the tension roll off their shoulders little by little as the hours pass. But there is a mighty elephant that’s followed them here, feeding off their stolen glances and lingering touches and growing larger every day.

 

 

-

-

 

 

**_v. can you feel the weight of it? the whole world at your fingertips? don’t be, don’t be afraid_ **

****

Interestingly, it takes much longer for the tears to fall than he expected, and Fitz is actually kind of amazed she has held out for this long.

 

He would be more amazed if it wasn’t for the sense of alarm he receives when he wakes abruptly to the sound of blood-curdling screaming from her room.

 

Fitz wastes no time in bolting there, throwing open the door and only halting when his eyes land on the sight before him: Jemma, thrashing around unconsciously and crying out. The breath is knocked right out of him; she hasn’t had a fit like this in some time, and when she did it was never in _this_ state of distress.

 

Belatedly composing himself, he hurries around the bed and doesn’t stop to hesitate before grabbing hold of her wrists to still her.

 

“Jemma, _Jemma,_ _wake up!”_ he says worriedly. She fights against him roughly, spilling out strings of incoherent words, but he doesn’t loosen, only running his thumbs soothingly over the undersides of her wrists. “Come on, Jemma. Wake up; come back to me. _Please_ , Jemma.”

 

It takes another moment or two for her to return to awareness with a sharp gasp, blinking up at him miserably. He removes his grasp immediately, wipes the tears streaming her cheeks as she catches her breath.

 

“There you are,” he murmurs, smoothing her damp hair out of her eyes and tucking the strands behind her ear. Still panting, she squeezes his forearms to keep them there, needing the contact.

 

“Fitz,” she breathes more than says, sniffling a little, lip quivering. She’s pitiful and his heart threatens to break in two.

 

“I’m here, you’re safe. It’s okay.” He’s thumbing her cheek again while she steadies herself and it takes no more than five seconds for the dam to break before she’s thrown her arms around his neck. He stumbles a little from impact, still standing, now hovering awkwardly in her clutch. Jemma’s sniffles escalate to sobs rippling through her whole body, so he carefully maneuvers himself onto the bed for easier access. She clings to him desperately, and his heart aches at the feeling. “Shh, it was only a dream, love. You’re safe, I promise.”

 

Her sobbing subsides from the distraction of his chest rising and falling against hers and his thumb drawing the Fibonacci sequence on her back. Eventually, her breathing returns to a normal pattern and she’s nuzzling against his chin.

 

“Thank you,” she mumbles gratefully, barely above a whisper.

 

“Any time,” Fitz grins, risking a kiss to her hair. She hums in response. “Do you want to talk about it?”

 

She hesitates, but ultimately firmly shakes her head.

 

“Jemma, you can tell me. Whatever it is, it’s okay.”

 

“It was Will,” she finally says. He stills at the statement, and then continues the familiar pattern of his thumb on her back, signaling her to continue. She swallows hard. “It was when he saved me. He lost his _life_ saving me, Fitz. That wasn’t a dream.”

 

“It wasn’t your fault.”

 

“But it _was!”_ She tries to extricate herself from his grasp, but he just pulls her in closer. “He was supposed to _leave_. He was supposed to go _home_. _I took that from him.”_

 

“It-”

 

“And all of those defenseless Inhumans on top of that-”

 

She’s rambling now, and he starts to protest her string of self-loathing but she cuts him off with a topic he doesn’t expect to be placed so high on her list of substances from the mass of guilt on her back. “And I still cannot _begin_ to fathom everything you put yourself through to save me. And in return I…just… _god_ , Fitz, I hurt you. I hurt you so badly. I can’t seem to _stop_ hurting you. I seem to hurt _everyone_ I-” she cuts herself off by crying against his neck, tears staining his shirt and wounding him in the pit of his stomach with every muffled sob coursing through her; it rattles the both of them.

 

“Jemma, stop. _Stop._ Listen to me.” Fitz shifts where she’s hiding her face to fully look at her and, so she can do the same to him, cradles her face in his hands. She’s so vulnerable and distraught, all puffy-eyed and red-faced with quivering lips, looking back at him like she’s been bitten and he’s the anti-venom that she’s lost hope in reaching before it drags her into the blackness. “First of all, you did what you had to do, and so did he. And if I know anything about him, I’ll bet if he had the chance to try again, he would do the exact same thing.” He pauses, but her expression is unreadable. “And despite that, it still wasn’t your fault. _You_ didn’t take away his life, that bloody space demon did.”

 

“Fitz, _please_ -”

 

“What _you_ did was return hope to a hopeless man. And that’s the best thing you could’ve done for him.”

 

_“But-”_

 

“No buts. And, second, the same goes for the Inhumans. It’s incredibly tragic; no doubt about it there, but you did what you had to do. You hardly had a choice in the matter.”

 

“It was selfish.”

 

“Saving _your own life_ wasn’t selfish. I don’t _ever_ want to hear you say that again.” She studies him, too stunned to argue back, so he continues. “Your life is far too precious to me and a lot of others to dwell on that.”

 

Jemma collapses back into him with a watery sigh, returning her face to his neck.

 

“And, thirdly, you-”

 

“Fitz, please don’t. I, I don’t want to do this right now. Not tonight.”

 

That stops him immediately. He gulps, unsure. “What _do_ you want then, Jemma?”

 

“Just,” she shudders against him, trying to compose herself enough to complete one sentence without losing it again. Her voice is small, frail, barely above a whisper. “Hold me, please. Just hold me.” And she nearly starts bawling all over again at the feeling of his arms surrounding her once more. It’s always where she’s felt the safest, like he could hide her away for days on end and not quite forget her troubles, but silence them. For she will always eventually have to face them, but this gives her a glimpse of how it will feel when she’s free.

 

He allows her to fall into him. If she needs this, she’ll have it.

 

 

-

-

 

 

**_vi. can I be close to you?_ **

 

Fitz didn’t mean to fall asleep there, just to hold her until she did and slip out to give her the space she would need to regroup without smothering her. The last thing he wants is to overstep his boundaries any more than necessary.

 

But he did and now he’s laying in her bed on her pillow and half awake he’s overcome with her scent on the sheets he’s tangled in. He opens his eyes finally, sunlight blinding him immediately from the curtains she likes to keep open, unlike his, and he’s surprised to find the space next to him empty.

 

After rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, he rolls out of bed and pads to the kitchen. The kettle is still hot on the stove and the sugar bowl is sitting next to his mug, a spoon out and ready for usage too. He smirks.

 

“Thought I’d find you out here,” he says on the porch after making his tea, softly not to spook her. Jemma glances up from her phone to give him a small smile. “Feeling better?”

 

“Yeah,” she answers. But she grows silent. It’s not a comfortable silence either, he notes. Something is off.

 

He allows it to set in over them for ten minutes, then fifteen, then twenty.

 

“I know you probably don’t want to talk about it anymore, but _I_ don’t want you to feel like you can’t. If you need to vent, don’t hold it in.”

 

She sets down her phone, and he prepares for a spill.

 

“I…I have a nephew,” she says quietly, completely changing the subject. “I found out this morning just checking Ellie’s Facebook since I hadn’t heard from her since…you know. He was born while I was gone.”

 

That catches him off guard. “I didn’t know she was pregnant."

 

“You and I weren’t exactly on the best of speaking terms when she told me,” she winces, then clears her throat. “But regardless…my little sister had her first child, and I missed it.”

 

“Jemma-”

 

“He’s four months old today. They’re both doing well it seems. He has my nose. Hers, technically, but we have the same one, so.”

 

She opens her phone to her recently saved album to show him the evidence. It’s a sweet one, most likely from around two months ago, a professionally taken photo of the baby sleeping with his fingers in his mouth, and Eliza beaming lovingly at him; pure bliss radiates off her face.

 

“She looks happy.”

 

“She really does,” Jemma pulls it back to gaze at it herself for a moment.

 

“Y’know I’ll bet-” he starts, but she interjects with, “I want to meet him.”

 

“I...” He really wasn’t expecting that. She’s been so quiet about her family for the past nine weeks since she’s been back he honestly doesn’t know if she’d ever bring herself to speak to them again. “Are you sure you’re ready for that?”

 

“I’m not ready to face my parents yet,” she answers quickly. “They know I’m alive; Coulson sent them a status report when I got back and let them know that my whereabouts are to remain classified.”

 

“So they have to be kept in the dark…forever?”

 

“I thought it would be easier than trying to explain it to them. On both sides of the conversation. Save them a stroke or two.” She tries to make light of it but he doesn’t miss the nervous touch of her hand on her neck. “I’m sure I’ll give them some insight eventually, just not anytime soon."

 

Fitz nods. It’s best not to push anything more. “So, what do you have in mind?”

 

-

 

It’s a hard phone call between sisters for the first time in three quarters of a year that doesn’t go without tears shedding on either end, but she eventually emerges from her bedroom with a misty-eyed smile and plans for the next day. She’s practically bouncing on her toes for the remaining eighteen hours until then and soon enough, they’re boarding a train and her quiet but very obvious excitement is too contagious for nearby passengers not to find themselves smiling.

 

Jeremy, Eliza’s husband and Jemma’s brother-in-law, is waiting at the train station to pick them up with a kind smile. He looks exhausted, but that's to be expected. 

 

They’re not very close, due to Jemma’s blossoming career whisking her away to the states through much of their dating period and joining Coulson’s team shortly after she was the maid of honor at their wedding, so lots of small talk is exchanged during the drive. But they don’t mind; it works for them.

 

She tells herself that she isn’t going to cry as soon as she follows Jeremy past the threshold. Fitz knows otherwise. He’s actually just about to bet her a week’s worth of dish duty that she will when baby laughter echoes down the hall and Jemma instantly has to move to wipe her eyes on her sleeve. 

 

“Jemma!” Eliza exclaims upon entering the living room, passing the wiggling bundle in her arms to his father and throwing her arms around her neck.

 

“Oh, Ellie,” she replies weakly, tears spilling from her eyes freely now. She hugs her tightly, even more so when she hears her sniffling into her shoulder. 

 

They hold each other for a long time, trying to pour seemingly years of separation into this one hug, but a small wail interjects. Both giving out watery laughs, they part to investigate the source.

 

“C’mon,” the new mother speaks softly, guiding her to the baby now gurgling as Jeremy bounces him. “Simon Price, meet your auntie Jemma.”

 

Said Auntie Jemma gasps the moment she lays eyes on him, and her words catch in her throat as he’s placed into her open arms. “Simon, as in-”

 

“Simmons,” Eliza finishes for her, nudging her gently. “Because it’s close to Simmons. I told Mum and Dad it was after them, but I really wanted him to have a piece of you too.”

 

“Simon,” she says again, but this time directed to the owner of the name. He peers up at her, wide eyed with her nose and reaching for the loose hair on her shoulders with chubby little fingers to put in his mouth. She smiles genuinely and chuckles, rocking him softly. “Hello, Simon.”

 

-

 

Fitz hadn’t really considered himself a baby person. Nothing against them, he just never really spent much time around them growing up as the only child of a young, single mother. He also had not spent long thinking of having one of his own. With the high maintenance his career required and lack of expertise on the subject of domesticity, he never gave it much thought. Plus, babies are tiny and loud and breakable, like fleshy time bombs. To be honest, they kind of intimidated him. So, no, he’s not particularly a baby person.

 

That is, until now, sitting on the sofa with Jemma as she coos and giggles and makes funny faces at the four-month-old grabbing at her face she’s currently holding in her lap. And suddenly he feels warmth in his chest that floods his veins and it’s like the first warm day of spring after a harsh and everlasting winter. She gives the baby Eskimo kisses and he sees stars.

 

Why has it been so long since he’s heard her real, genuine, highly contagious laugh? When is the last time she’s looked so happy and carefree? How long will that feeling last? He asks himself these concerning questions and many more, but then Simon blows a raspberry at her and she throws her head back, snickering away, and his worry fades into nothing.

 

They’ve had enough pain and tears to last a lifetime. For now, let it be.

 

“Fitz, _Fitz,”_ he hears her say, pulling him from his thoughts.

 

He blinks a few times and then from her knowing look he belatedly realizes that she’s caught him staring, and his ears tint red. “Y-yeah?”

 

Jemma shakes her head, smiling fondly. “Could you take him for a moment? I was going to sit outside with Ellie.”

 

“Oh, yeah. Yeah, sure. That’s fine. Yeah.”

 

“Yeah?” she laughs.

 

“Yeah,” he nods enthusiastically.

 

“Yeah? Because I’m about to put an infant in your arms, okay?”

 

“Yep, got that.” He grins as she places Simon into his outstretched arms, holding him there for a moment as he gurgles and kicks his little feet in the air.

 

-

 

Departing a few hours later is much harder than she anticipated.

 

There are more tears, promises to keep in touch better so long as this visit is kept quiet, and a nearly missed knowing look from Eliza at how fluid and familiar the movement of Fitz slipping his hand into Jemma’s is, but it’s too soon that the train arrives to take them back after a wonderful day.

 

When she settles in the window seat, she flips through the photo album on her phone again, now stocked with baby selfies and candids, pausing on her favorite: a precious one that Fitz took without her knowing at the time while her nephew was nodding off with his head on her chest and she had kissed his thin hair, and then continues thumbing through until she gets an incoming message from her sister with an image attached. She enlarges it and nearly gasps.

 

It’s her and Simon on one end of the couch, clearly taken from where Eliza had been sitting on the armchair adjacent to them, and she’s laughing so hard at the face the baby is making her eyes are closed with her head leaning back on the top of the sofa cushion. And then Fitz is sitting next to her, a smile forming at his lips and his eyes are looking at her with so much fondness her chest aches. Jemma knew he had been watching in amusement, but quite not like _this._

 

How the hell had she missed _this?_

 

She peers up at him now and doesn’t hesitate before pressing a kiss to his cheek. He blinks in surprise, skin growing warm where her lips were, before meeting her gaze in confusion.

 

“For coming with me today,” is all she says for an explanation. “It meant a lot.”

 

“Wasn’t any trouble,” he utters, grinning.

 

“I know.”

 

The train then starts moving and she lays her head on his shoulder for the rest of the ride home.

 

 

-

-

 

 

**_vii. and your smile in the back of my mind making me feel like, I just wanna know you better, know you better, know you better now_ **

 

"Jemma, stop. Let me do that."

 

She looks up from her task in surprise and slight annoyance. He must have followed her hobbling inside after she had lost her footing on the sidewalk a few moments ago, tearing a hole in her lounge pants and skinning her knee in the process, even after she told him not to fuss.

 

"It's just a small scrape; I'm more than capable of patching myself up-" she's reaching for the gauze in the first aid kit open on the counter, but she stops instantly when his hands cover hers.

 

"I know," Fitz murmurs. "But it doesn't mean you should every time. Let me take care of you for once." He says it lightly with a smile playing at his face but his eyes are doing that tender earnest thing and she's suddenly incapable of forming any other letters than "O" and "K".

 

She squeaks when Fitz's hands meet her waist, and surprisingly, he hardly strains as he lifts her onto the cleared countertop for better access to her wound. Interesting.

 

He runs cool water from the sink over the gauze and starts sweeping it across the site as gently as he can, pulling away immediately with every hiss until he's finished. She watches as he rummages through the box, for a disinfectant, presumably, and cannot bring herself to make any comments until he masks it with a bandage. And before she can, she's paralyzed when he instinctively leans down to place a kiss on the surface before hopping up beside her to examine it from her perspective.

 

"Not half bad, I'd say," he states.

 

"Yeah," she says. "Thank you, Doctor Fitzy."

 

"Anytime. Just try not to injure yourself, if at all possible."

 

She laughs then. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

 

Matching his grin, Jemma can't help but marvel at how he's changed. Her Fitz from before, woozy from the smallest trace of blood, would never have been able to clean up a scrape as tiny as that with the level of calm as he did. It only goes to show how much bloodshed they've been exposed to in the past three years, and it's a little scary to think about.

 

Her Fitz really has changed. And she's changed as well. They're different; it's a task to try and discover every layer of this new version of them. But ultimately, the more they learn, the more fascinating it becomes.

 

For example, how bold he's become to comfortably tuck a fallen strand of hair behind her ear. Or how easily she can now lean into his touch so that he keeps it there. Or how he can hold her gaze with that starry look in his eye without shying away. Or how she's started referring to him subconsciously as _her_ Fitz and finding herself dropping her sightline to his lips more and more often, like she's doing right now.

 

Eyes flitting shut and sitting side by side on a countertop somewhere in Perthshire, they both lean in slowly, like they have all the time in the world.

 

Except the distinct _ding_ of Jemma's phone interjects its two cents into that theory when their mouths are a hair's breath apart and they both jump back abruptly with a gasp.

 

Blushing vigorously, Jemma reaches for it and sighs at the screen.

 

 _[_ _12:51_ _] Daisy: skype? :D_

 

 

-

-

 

 

**_viii. don’t you forget, the only thing that matters is your heartbeat going strong_ **

 

It’s his damn hands.

 

He’s been doing _so well_. He’s recovered miraculously, anyone could confirm. Granted, his speech is still a little slower, and there’s the occasional stutter when he’s particularly in distress, but it’s no longer a struggle to race his mouth against his brilliant brain. Most of the time, he doesn’t even mind taking a moment to think the words through. He’s learned to think before he speaks and to listen rather than simply hear.

 

But his motor skills have improved beyond anyone’s expectations, including his own. So much that every once in a while, he forgets, as if his bad hand had never been an issue. He’s moved forward and adjusted, worked a way around it. He’s not crippled by his faults anymore.

 

Until moments like this one, that is, as said bad hand quivers and shakes his whole forearm and does not cooperate in the least. And he’s so frustrated and blindsided by this action that he slams it into the counter just to make it stop. Hard.

 

 _“FUCK!”_ he cries out, jumping away and seeing stars from the unexpected jolt of pain.

 

Jemma sprints to the kitchen, alarm painted on her face. “Fitz? What is it?”

 

He leans against the counter and tries to look anywhere but her direction. Hand now throbbing from impact more so than twitching involuntarily, Fitz tucks it behind his back in shame of his own temper. “Nothing,” he grumbles, “it’s stupid.”

 

“It’s not stupid if you-” her gaze falls on the broken, half disassembled toaster spread across the countertop. “Oh, _Fitz,”_ she sympathizes.

 

He lets out a frustrated noise, scrunching up his face. _“Don’t,_ Jemma. Just, please.”

 

Instead of retreating, she simply steps forward, eyes as soft as her voice.

 

“Fitz. You’re _hurt._ Let me have a look.”

 

Sighing, he brings his fist to her open palm. She pokes and prods as gently as she can, cool fingers soothing his too warm knuckles and loosening his tension at the contact.

 

“Nothing broken,” Jemma says after finishing her examination. “But you should put some ice on it to numb it up a touch.”

 

“Yeah, yeah,” the waves her off, somehow not feeling any better about the moment. He can’t even fix a bloody toaster without injuring himself, for God’s sake.

 

“What was that?”

 

Fitz pales. He must have been grumbling rather than keeping his thoughts to himself. “Nothing.”

 

She frowns. “I think we’ve already established that it’s not _nothing._ Talk to me, Fitz. _Please._ Tell me what’s troubling you.”

 

“I just…I’m…” he drags his hands across his face, irritated. Of course _now_ of all times his brain decides not to let him use his words. “I’m different.”

 

“Alright, that’s a start-”

 

“No, that’s just it.” His throat contracts at the sudden pained look on her face.

 

_“What?”_

It’s too much to meet her eye at this point, so Fitz redirects his to the floor.

 

“I’m _different._ _Too_ different, Jemma. It’s easy for me to forget about it all sometimes, especially here, but then I remember and…all I want is for things to be good again. I want this, _us,_ to be good again. You deserve that. But I…I’ve changed.”

 

“Fitz…”

 

“I can’t help but wonder if I’ve changed _too_ much. I’ll never be anything _close_ to the same as I was before.”

 

Surprisingly, after fully comprehending and considering everything he’s forced out, Jemma’s face scrunches up in her own twinge of irritation.

 

 _“Yes,_ Fitz. You’ve _changed._ Is that what you wanted to hear?”

 

Her words are sharp and not what he’s expecting. He winces slightly.

 

She takes a shuddering breath and continues. “You’re different. You’ll never be the same as you were before. That’s irreversible.”

 

“I know, Jemma. Thanks for reminding me.” It’s cold, but it’s out before he can stop it.

 

She doesn’t even flinch. “But I’m different too! I’ve changed, and I’ll never be the same either. So I’m _not_ about to just stand here and let you beat yourself up about something completely out of our control!” Her eyes soften from frustration to something lighter, a shine almost. “But you know what hasn’t changed?”

 

Fitz isn’t expecting her to step back into his personal space, and yet, here she is. She hesitates her next move, but slowly succumbs the urge to reach a hand out, placing it over his heart. He tries not to react, but they can both feel it skip a beat.

 

“This? It had remained the same since the day I met you. It’s brave, it’s strong, and it holds more kindness than anyone I have ever known.” Fitz can see the tears starting to form in her eyes as she smiles up at him. “And nothing, no matter where you go or what you do, _nothing_ will ever change that.”

 

He doesn’t realize his own tears have started trickling until Jemma shifts her hand from his chest to his face to wipe his cheeks. He leans into her touch.

 

“Thank you,” he says quietly.

 

“Of course, Fitz.” She hugs him then, buries her face in his neck, and it’s honestly the best feeling he’s had in months. Just the two of them, standing in the kitchen, warm and familiar and safe against the solid rise and fall of each other’s chests, beating hearts in sync.

 

It’s simple, but it’s home.

 

When he hears it, those three little words whispered into his neck, he genuinely wonders if he’s imagined it. The content mood of the moment might have just supplied his brain with what he desperately wanted to confirm.

 

But she suddenly stills in his hold, like she didn’t mean to say it. Or she did, but not loud enough for him to hear.

 

Whichever it is, he leaves her be. Set her own pace. He simply holds her a little tighter, for just a moment longer.

 

When she extracts herself from his arms and turns to leave, his hand is shaking for an entirely different reason.

 

 

-

-

 

 

**_ix. I'll take your bad days with your good, walk through this storm I would, I'd do it all because I love you_ **

 

After nine days of skirting around it, Jemma has had enough.

 

What _it_ is, she’s not precisely sure, but the mood of the entire house has changed drastically since their fight in the kitchen, and she knows he can tell too, but neither have shifted once to try to correct it.

 

They’re backtracking and she simply cannot stand it. She _fears_ it. After everything they have been through, everything they’ve fought, from the clouds to the sea to across the universe and back, she cannot lose him again. She _can’t._

 

So she doesn’t.

 

Jemma does what they have slowly but surely been relearning to do so it becomes second nature once again. She confronts him, right in the middle of the hallway, simply because she can’t take it anymore, and begs him to spill everything on his mind. _Anything_ to relieve this tension building up for the last however long.

 

He hesitates at first. This is their peaceful place, their middle ground. This is not the place to fight until they’re blue in the face. But she argues that this isn’t some magical cottage in a fairy tale without any issues; this is where the issues they already have need to be resolved. It’s a place for them to break, breathe, and just be.

 

So he does.

 

It all falls out as soon as he gets going. He tells her that the last thing he wants is to push her any further down a path she’s not ready for. He vents about their poor sense of timing, their lack of communication skills, her inability to let the past and its mistakes go, and his ridiculous jealousy when he had no right to it. He crumbles as he brings up their evident worst enemy, the cosmos, for demolishing what they’ve built when things finally start to look right –

 

And that is when she puts her foot down.

 

“Fuck the cosmos!” She snaps in the middle of his spiral, but Fitz doesn’t show signs of slowing his train of thought any time soon, so she surges forward and kisses him hard. He stops immediately and pulls her in by waist, giving exactly the reaction she needs. Grinning against him, Jemma tugs him closer, fingers scratching at the back of his neck before winding her arms around and locking him in place right where she wants him.

 

He’s the first to pull back, but she doesn’t let him go far, keeping her hold on him in unwavering place. His eyelids flutter from being surrounded by her scent and her touch and her, and just her. She leans up and kisses the bridge of his nose and he whimpers.

 

 _“I love you,_ Fitz. Every way there is.”

 

“I…love you too.” His eyes are glassy at finally getting to say what he’s shown for so long, and she moves one arm down to cradle his face in her hand. “But-”

 

Her second kiss is just as effective in halting his thoughts as the first. Taking a moment to indulge first, he sighs against her and breaks the contact again; dropping his sightline to the little space he’s wedged between them. She tries for a third before he can speak and nearly pouts when he starts.

 

“I know, Jemma, but you don’t-”

 

“No, _you_ don’t, Fitz. Let me make this very clear because you don’t seem to get it.” She tilts his chin up to meet her eyes, rising on her toes for what he’s pretty sure could be the sweetest, most chaste kiss anyone has ever received. “I,” she presses another, “love,” and another, “you.” The last lingers on his skin even after she pulls away, and he needs a second to compose himself, unable to stop his eyelids from fluttering and lips twitching.

 

She’s never been one for long, emotional speeches, far better at showing rather than telling, so Jemma tries to round up the words as blatantly as possible. No more rambling, no need for him to read between the lines. She takes a shuddering breath. “I have loved you for _so_ _long_ , Fitz. Long before I even recognized it. And if I’m being honest with myself, before I even really knew what exactly love meant.” He swallows hard and she thumbs along his jaw. “You are the most important part of my life, and my favorite person in the world, in _any_ world, and I don’t ever want to give you a reason to doubt that ever again. I just, I – _hmmph.”_

 

This time it’s his turn to cut her off, lips slanting against hers with an addictive friction that evaporates the rest of the words in her spill. His tongue slides against hers and suddenly she’s overcome with the need to be as close to him as humanly possible, tilting her head and pushing him into the side of the bookshelf behind them. Fitz stumbles, grunting at the impact, but recovers quickly enough. He walks her to the adjacent wall so that she’s the one pinned instead, and she takes the opportunity to start unfastening the top of her button down. Quickly realizing her actions, he groans, removing his grasp to finish the job and push it over her shoulders. He also notices her knees starting wobble from standing on her toes for so long, so he slides his arms around her waist, hoisting her up. She inhales sharply, so surprised at his boldness (but also delighted in this new angle of her hips being up higher than his) that her teeth clack against his and he chuckles. She breaks the kiss then, grinning dazedly.

 

“This okay?” he pants. His voice is lower than Jemma has ever heard it before and she’s thinks that, should this remain a constant, she’ll definitely be in trouble because of it, but her head is far too clouded with him to process human words so she nods enthusiastically, locking her legs around him and kissing him gently, chaste even, if it wasn’t for their current position against the wall.

 

Finally, _finally_ they’re on the same page again. Their tracks have finally aligned and there’s no holding back. It’s exhilarating and new and she never wants to stop. She grins against his lips, warmth swooping low in her stomach, when she realizes that she never _has_ to stop. This time they’re working in tandem towards something foreign and mysterious, but altogether invigorating.

 

This time, it’s okay.

 

 _They’re_ okay.

 

This in mind, it doesn’t stay gentle for long. Soon enough, she’s sighing into his mouth and his hands are roaming into not so chaste places, and they’re both breathing heavily when they part.

 

Their eyes lock on one another as they catch their breaths, and Fitz belatedly realizes the strap of her tank top has slid off her shoulder, frantically moving to correct its placing. Jemma can’t hold back her laughter at the absurdity of it. He’s confused, so she molds her mouth to his again to stop him from overthinking, rolling her hips into his just to see how he reacts. Much to her delight, he groans again, rutting against her until shivers run down her spine and she has to tighten her hold on him to keep herself upright.

 

It’s an exploration, a give and take of matched and unmatched tests and movements to find new and breathtaking reactions. They’re in a fever and it’s apparent by every means.

 

This isn’t how Jemma thought their first time would go, figuring it would be just a little awkward and uncoordinated knowing their history together and how far it goes back, but then Fitz is lowering himself to sit on the sofa and she shifts her legs to straddle him and her aforementioned thoughts disappear.

 

“This okay?” she repeats his earlier words, carding her fingers though his hair. He stutters something unintelligible, swearing under his breath, before cradling her cheeks and tilting her face down to kiss her forehead. The gesture is just so simple, but with so much care and affection, she feels tears pricking her eyes.

 

Not wanting her flickering emotions to kill the mood, she lifts up to rest her forehead against his, studying his flushed face and swollen lips and wide pupils that nearly cast over the blue of his irises. A smile teases at her own lips when she realizes _she_ did this to him. To keep that power from going straight to her head, which it does a little anyway, she slots her mouth against his again, catches his lower lip with her teeth just because.

 

 _“Jemma,”_ he moans, and she smirks, captivated by his response to her actions big and small. Rolling her hips purposefully, earning another gasp in the process, she climbs off his lap to lean back against the sofa’s decorative pillows, tugging him down with her.

 

He’s broken from his spell then. “Jemma, are you sure you want-”

 

“What I want is you,” she murmurs, fingers caressing the stubble on his cheeks, eyes gazing into his with more seriousness than he’s possibly ever seen from her. And that’s enough to convince him.

 

-

 

“I’ve got to know,” he whispers later as they catch their breaths, his fanning against the faintly sweaty skin of her neck. “What were you laughing at before we, y’know…”

 

“Had crazy hot sex on a rental sofa?” she offers, giggling as his pulse quickens where she’s running her thumb over his wrist. She peers over the edge of the cushion where she’s laying at their clothes littering the floor, and bites her lip to keep from cracking up all over again. “It’s just, you were so intent on making sure my bloody tank top strap was decent, when right before you seemed to have _no_ trouble at all getting me out of my shirt!”

Fitz blushes a great shade of pink, burying his face in her neck and sucking on the skin below her ear just knowing it would quiet her cackling and trade it for soft moans.

 

“Hmm, hey now, watch it,” she bats his face away. “I’ve already probably got an impressive hickey there.”

 

 _“Impressive,_ huh?” he asks, kissing her temple and pulling her in closer.

 

“Oh don’t even,” Jemma rolls her eyes. The last thing she needs is for him to get a big head at this stage of whatever line they just crossed. But then she grows serious for a moment. “But really, Fitz. That was _wonderful._ ”

 

He beams at her. “Yeah?”

 

“Yeah. Yeah it was.”

 

“Well I concur.” He awkwardly holds a hand out above her for a high-five, and then promptly smacks himself in the forehead with it. “I - that wasn’t…sorry. I’m new at this.”

 

But to his surprise, she collides her palm with his, smiling from ear to ear.

 

“Impressive indeed,” she hums, pulling the quilt slung over the back of the sofa over the both of them and drawing him in for a slow, lazy kiss.

 

 

-

-

 

 

**_x. and the sun went down, it never seemed to rise, but now you're here with the light shining in your eyes_ **

 

When her mind stirs back to a conscious state, Jemma quickly becomes aware of the arms woven possessively around her as well as the rise and fall of a bare chest against hers and she can't fight the grin that grows on her face, burying her nose further into his neck. The movement causes a sigh to slip from his throat, pulling her in even tighter. His fingers unconsciously glide around her back and she can’t stop the blush on her cheeks upon being reminded exactly what those are capable of.

 

She basks in this moment for a little while, recalling last night’s activities fondly and simply surrounding herself with him. Considering the hell they had faced in the past two, nearly three years, she comes to the conclusion that they deserve every quiet moment like this. One day in their cozy little cottage for every tear shed. Though counting for accuracy would be impossible, Jemma thinks that she wouldn’t mind hiding away here for exactly that long. Even longer if she’s being honest with herself.

 

Studying his features from the eyelashes longer than they had any right to be to the stubble growing along his cheeks and jaw, she tries to dig deep into her mind and search for an exact time and place that she last saw him this at peace. She frowns when the outcome is inconclusive.

 

Not wanting to turn this moment gray, (or black, as the image of a specific, and rather heartbreaking, moment of him in an unconscious state sweeps out of her mind as quickly as it entered) she redirects her thoughts to wander to happier places: the friction they can create with their bodies moving in tandem, the giddiness she can now unashamedly feel when he kisses her _just_ right…

 

She lets him sleep for as long as she can bear it. As much as she enjoys this new take on close proximity, her best friend (or partner? Lover? Boyfriend? What even are they right now?) truly is a space heater when asleep, so his hold on her now is getting particularly stuffy as she’s finally wide awake. She pushes her face forward and places a soft kiss on his neck.

 

"Fiiiiitz," she murmurs, giving another for good measure. "Wake up." And another.

 

"Mmm mm," best friend in question mumbles grumpily, removing a hand from her back to pull the quilt over his ear. She chuckles softly at his attempt to shield out his sleep intruder, clearly not yet awake enough to realize that he's pulling said shield over the both of them.

 

"C'mon, time to wake up," she hums, kisses landing on his jawline next in hopes of rousing him from his sleep. He grumbles something incoherent, having to do with both his drowsiness and his thickened accent, and buries his face in the decorative sofa pillow, to which she quickly traces her fingers over his cheeks and turns him her way.

 

"Doctor Fitzy," she says firmly. The nickname earns her a subtle upward turn in the corner of his lips before she presses her mouth to them. Now that she's allowed to do this without consequences to follow, and everything previously unsaid is laid bare as they, she plans on using it to her full advantage.

 

Jemma leans back upon breaking the kiss, giving him space to adjust back to the world of the conscious that isn't her, and he instinctively follows, nose to nose with sleepy, dopey grins on their faces.

 

“Sleep well?” asks sweetly.

 

“The best,” he mumbles, kissing her again. She giggles against his mouth, fingers finding their way to his stubbly cheeks.

 

“I rather like this,” she whispers.

 

“Yeah, it’s growing on me.”

 

She opens her mouth to say something, and then catches up as the shit-eating grin on his face grows wider, rolling her eyes instead.

 

“Pun intended.”

 

“Unbelievable.”

 

They take a moment to catch their breaths from laughing until breaks the comfortable morning silence. "Er, so, did...not that I mind waking up to this, because I could really, _really_ get used to it, but...did you need something?"

 

Jemma immediately jumps to explain, but holding his gaze for so long has rendered her ability to say aloud the words. She’s completely taken aback. "I honestly don't remember." Her stomach growls, almost as if to give her a hint that maybe _that_ had something to do with it.

 

“Well on that note,” he chuckles, peeling their cover off of him and shifting to get up. “I’ll make you some breakfast.”

 

“Oh?” Normally that meal is her more confident area.

 

“Mhmm. I’ve got a girlfriend now. It’s my duty to woo her with my impeccable culinary expertise.” He can’t hide the light reddening of his cheeks at the use of the word _girlfriend_. He doesn’t even try to, since hers look just the same.

 

"Pouring cereal doesn't qualify as culinary expertise," she warns.

 

"It does if you put sliced fruit in it!"

 

Her brow rises in challenge. "What _kind_ of fruit?"

 

"Guess you'll actually have to let me cook for you and find out." He winks and steals a quick kiss when her eyes show readiness to make a fuss, but it melts away as they part. It's amazing, but also a little frightening what Fitz is capable of doing to her with an act so simple.

 

As he rolls off the sofa and ceremoniously offers his hand to pull her up, coupled with that tender look on his face like she's the most precious thing the universe has hand crafted, Jemma smiles wide.

 

Bravery has always been her most defining trait anyhow.

 

 

-

-

 

 

**_xi. so when I’m ready to be bolder, and my cuts have healed with time, comfort will rest on my shoulder, and I’ll bury my future behind_ **

 

Jemma had been surprised and very skeptical when Fitz offered to pick up groceries on his own instead of going together as usual, but he was very insistent and this short drive seemed to be very important to him, so she let him kiss her quickly before venturing off on whatever small journey he had planned, highly suspicious but reasonable. To take it off her mind, she convinced herself that he was visiting his mother again, as they both had a occasionally in the past few months.

 

Now, she’s sitting on the porch with a book in hand, peering up and grinning widely when their little car pulls up the drive once more.

 

“Got you something,” Fitz says softly as she greets him to help load in their presumably and hopefully nutritious haul, with an expected few extra sweets.

 

“Oh?” she tilts her head to the side fondly. She has playfulness in her voice, but he when takes her hands in his and holds her gaze, Jemma senses a serious to his actions. “Fitz? What is it?”

 

She can tell that he senses her worry by the way he presses a kiss to her brow to settle her. “I’ve done some research. There’s a wee corner of land right behind this cottage that isn’t owned. Literally a corner, maybe enough room for a picnic table. Don’t know how that was managed, but it’s there.”

 

She squints up at him, confused. “I’m not following. What are you getting at?”

 

Running his thumbs over her knuckles, he looks down. “I know you’re still grieving Will.” Her breath hitches. “You’re moving forward, and that’s great, but I know you.”

 

“Fitz, if you have _any_ concern for how I feel about-”

 

“No no no, that’s not it.” He meets her eyes again. “I just…you didn’t…I thought we could do something.” Smiling sweetly, he adds, “So you can have proper closure.”

 

She beams at him, taken aback at his kindness and a little glassy-eyed. “Okay,” she clears her throat, “what do you have in mind?”

 

With a firm nod, Fitz unclasps their hands to pull open the side door, revealing, amongst paper bags in the floorboard, a small potted tree.

 

“I thought that little empty space could be put to good use,” he explains, pulling it out to present it to her. _“Salix alba.”_

 

Jemma runs the name through her head a few times before placing it, and has to bite her lip to keep from cracking. “Really, Fitz? White _Will_ ow?”

 

“Thought you’d like that,” he winks. Allowing herself to laugh, she takes the pot out of his hands and sets it on the gravel, winding her arms around his neck instead.

 

“Thank you,” she hums, lips against his ear, warm breath sending a shiver down his spine.

 

“Of course, Jem,” he murmurs back.

 

“Now, let’s bring the rest of these in before the milk wastes again.” She extricates herself from his arms and gestures to their groceries. He groans.

 

 _“God_ , that was _one_ time. And who was the one bloody distracting me, hmm?”

 

“Perhaps you shouldn’t be so easily distracted then.” Before he can counter, she veers left and scoops up two bags.

 

-

 

The little tree is planted when the sun is at its highest, per Jemma’s request. She recalls fond details and stories about him in a lighthearted tribute, Fitz stopping what he’s doing to rub circles into the small of her back when the words catch in her throat, until the deed is done and they step back to admire their handiwork.

 

“Goodbye, Will,” she says with a teary-eyed smile. “You were a good man and a great friend. A hero. And I’m sorry you never got to see the sun again.” She wipes the fallen tear off her cheek, bottom lip quivering. “I hope your energy is radiating off a newly formed sun somewhere in the universe, but perhaps a little closer to home.”

 

Fitz squeezes her hand. “No energy in the universe is created,” he recites as she rests her head on his shoulder.

 

“And none is destroyed,” she finishes.

 

They stand there, basking in the sunlight as it illuminates the willow tree, for a long while.

 

-

 

Jemma Simmons isn’t fond of heights.

 

This isn’t news to anyone that knows her, long term or short; it’s fairly obvious, actually.

 

So when she wanders over to the abandoned wooden swing of the big tree in the backyard after they’ve finished up, using _surprised_ to describe the emotion Fitz is feeling is an understatement to say the least.

 

“I’ll be fine.” She reassures him.

 

“No, yeah, but do you see the length of the rope? You’ll be up fairly high once you get going.”

 

She gives him a softened look, before determination seeps back in her face. “It’s a swing, Fitz. Now get off your bum and come push me.”

 

Sighing, he complies and strides into the spot she’s pointing at behind her. He starts her off at a decent pace, slowly walking her backwards and sending her off with a gentle shove.

 

It’s a give and take of the same hesitant movements at first, trying to ease her into it, but it doesn’t take long for her to glance at him over her shoulder.

 

“You can use a little more force, Fitz. I’ll tell you if it’s too much.”

 

“That was kind of a difficulty before,” he mumbles, and his face immediately shows that he hadn’t meant to say that out loud. “Sorry.”

 

“No, don’t be. You’re right.” She swallows thickly. “But we’re working on that, remember?”

 

His lips quirk upwards just a bit, giving her a stronger push. “Yeah, yeah we are.”

 

She’s an amazing thing up there, he notes, watching as Jemma leans forward and back with more strength each time to send her up higher. Once she finds a solid rhythm he backs away to let her take on the challenge by storm.

 

And by storm she is. She always is.

 

She’s always stood tall, even if she couldn’t see the horizon perfectly clear, rooted to the ground by the soles of her feet and refused to budge no matter the wind. From the moment Fitz met her, wide-smiled and too much lavender scented hand lotion and a wild hunger for adventure burning bright in her eyes, he knew there was something inside of her that held more courage than she probably gave herself credit for.

 

She stood tall then and she still stands tall even after her world fell at her feet again and again. He doesn’t know how she still does it, and yet, she does.

 

A loud shriek jerks Fitz from his thoughts and he startles where he’s fallen still. Her momentum has sent her much higher than he anticipated, and frankly it’s terrifying.

 

But she shrieks again and then it dawns on him.

 

Jemma is no longer rooted, brave-faced mask in place.

 

She has let the wind sweep her off her feet.

 

And she’s _laughing_ at it.

 

 _“Fitz!_ The view from up here is _remarkable!”_ She shouts from above, not taking her eyes off whatever she’s spotted through the trees. “You’ve got to try it!!”

 

“Hard pass!” he chuckles. He will let her have this moment. She’s finally found her horizon and she can hold it as her own for as long as she needs to. She deserves every millisecond of it.

 

She swings high until the sun sets low.

 

 

-

-

 

 

**_xii. got you shackled in my embrace, I'm latching on to you_ **

 

She’s watering one of the living room plants, minding her own business and even absentmindedly humming the tune stuck in her head, when she hears a thud so loud it almost causes her to lose her grip on the pitcher.

 

Sprinting to the doorframe, breath caught in her throat, she opens her mouth to call out to him but he cuts her off immediately from behind the closed bedroom door. 

 

_“‘M fine! Don’t worry!”_

 

Jemma quirks an eyebrow, but chooses to trust him and pads back over to the shelf. She starts organizing the stack of books next to the flowerpot by their publishing dates, but barely makes it to 1964 when another thud spooks her. This time the noise is accompanied by a curse and some low grumbling.

 

“Alright there?” She tries cautiously.

 

_“Ah, yes! It’s all under control! Go back to whatever you’re doing!”_

 

She’s not entirely convinced, but decides to let him be.

 

And by letting him be, naturally the biochemist means she’s going to creep down the hall and hold her ear to the door to get to the bottom of his shenanigans. It’s what any normal girlfriend would do, right?

 

It only takes a few moments of listening to him shuffle around for the third ungraceful clunk to rattle her before she throws open the door, revealing a very wonky Fitz flat on his ass on the hardwood surrounded by…socks?

 

_“Bloody-"_

 

What the _hell_ are you doing??” She demands, arms folding over her chest in a fluid, ready to scold movement. Except, he's just sitting there, in pajamas, wearing two vastly different socks, dozens of others spread about the floor like snow. It's kind of hard to keep a stern, straight face. 

 

He reaches for her to pull him up. "I had an idea."

 

"Wonderful," she sighs, helping him to his feet and fighting a grin when he doesn't let go of her hands.

 

"No, no, hear me out. It's a rainy day-"

 

"-It's hardly drizzling-"

 

"We've nothing to do-"

 

"-I was perfectly content with organizing the bookshelf-"

 

Sighing, he releases a hand to shush her with a finger to her lips. "Sock skating."

 

She doesn't know what she was expecting his explanation for his actions to be, but it definitely wasn't that. "What?"

 

"Every floor in this cottage is hardwood. Newly renovated, even. There aren't even any ridges in it. Just smooth and pristine hardwood." He gestures to his sock-clad feet and she follows his sightline with her skeptical gaze. "Perfect surface for sock skating, I'd say."

 

She folds her arms over her chest in challenge. “You haven’t even made it out of the bedroom and you’re flat on your arse.”

 

“That was completely intentional, I’ll have you know.”

 

“Why in the hell, Fitz-”

 

“For your information, I was testing for traction and slip resistance. And threw those out. Sample A.” He gestures to the plethora of socks still littering the floor, then to the ones on his feet. “If I lose my balance, it means they produce the least amount of friction against the floor, allowing us to slide effortlessly. Sample B.”

 

She gives him a fond knowing look. “Sure it’s not just that you’re clumsy?”

 

“That too.” He offers her a brown pair he has folded on the bed behind him and gives her that sweet, soft smile she’s slowly discovering she can’t seem to say no to, despite the ridiculousness of his request. “C’mon, Jem, for old time’s sake?”

 

Suddenly, she’s transported back to finals week at the academy, the nights when he’d pry her away from her textbooks and replace the notecards in her hand with a pair of wool socks and drag her into the hall. They’d slide around the checkered tile uncoordinatedly, snorting and bumping into each other, crashing into walls until the neighbors would bang on the other side to shut them up. Later, at their apartment at Sci-Ops, when life started moving so fast they forgot to slow down, one would initiate the pastime by waxing the kitchen floor and drawing the other to them. It was those silly nights that Jemma felt the most ridiculous, childish, and embarrassingly unprofessional. But they are also some of the best nights and fondest memories she can recall.

 

So it takes a lot less convincing than she’s willing to admit for her to wordlessly slip on the socks and follow him down the hallway, placing her phone on the speaker dock when they reach the living room.

 

The best part of their lonesome little cottage in the middle of nowhere? The ability to play music as obnoxiously loud as they please without angry neighbors to complain, a sacred luxury they’re happily making up lost opportunities for.

 

Fitz starts mumbling along to the upbeat tune, only getting every few words or so in time with the artist due to nearly losing his balance as they glides around the floor, and Jemma gets the giggles and can’t seem to stop.

 

“Think it’s funny, do you?” He demands mockingly, reaching for her with a mischievous grin on his face. She tries to wave him off, sliding away from him, but she’s nearly doubled over with burning cheeks and added to the lack of traction in her footing, it’s hard to multitask.

 

He finally catches up to her and locks his arms around her waist from behind, giving her a second to catch her breath. It’s literally a second, and then he starts tickling her.

 

 _“Fitz!”_ She gasps, squirming in his hold, but he’s merciless. Fitz presses kisses to her neck and cheek and anywhere else he can reach, stubble only adding to the sensation, and runs his fingers up and down her sides until her feet slide out from under her. They collapse in a heap on the floor, panting like they’ve just finished a triathlon.

 

“You know I love you,” he hums moments later, when he notices her obviously struggling to pout at him.

 

“That’s questionable now, after that assault,” Jemma grumbles, bumping her head against his.

 

“Mhm,” he pecks her cheek and snakes his arms around her waist again. “Sure it is.”

 

 

-

-

 

 

**_xiii. you are the earth that I will stand upon, you are the words I will sing_ **

 

Being with Jemma, Fitz comes to find, is as stunningly simple as breathing air: second nature and never to be taken for granted.

 

So he allows himself to bask in the little moments they share, treasure every kiss and caress, and just be, and let be.

 

They won’t be this safe and happy forever.

 

He cuts that not so friendly reminder clean off as she places her fist on her palm and holds it out to him with a raised eyebrow, ready to decide what film will feature during this lazy night.

 

She wins; _Labyrinth_ it is.

 

Jemma wonders out loud why he insists on choosing scissors when it’s statistically improbable that he’ll ever win if she always knows what he’ll play.

 

Happy to be walking down this still-new path of saying what’s on their minds that they are consistently paving, Fitz tells her that he likes the shine in her eyes when she thinks she’s beaten him. She blushes as she hits the play button and crawls in the space next to him, lifting his arm and placing it around her comfortably.

 

He's not at all surprised when her comments on the special effects and camera mess-ups come less and less frequent and her breathing slows to a lazy pattern. Movies did always lull her to sleep. Her body half on top of his, her face buried in the crook of his neck, and with his arms hugging her waist snug against him, Leopold Fitz decides that he could get used to sleeping on a lumpy rental couch if it meant he could hold Jemma until the following sunrise and a little longer. Let the excess of her overflowing strength seep into his skin beneath hers, and remind her that it's okay to be fragile in this harsh world.

 

But then she curls even closer to him fingers twisting in his shirt, and it slowly unties a knot in his chest.

 

She was broken, and now she’s healing. They’re going to be okay.

 

That in mind, he presses his lips to the top of her head once, twice, before tightening his hold on her and resting his cheek on her hair. She sighs in contentment in her sleep and there's a smile on his face as his own eyes slowly close.

 

 

-

-

 

 

**_xiv. so I will help you read those books, if you will sooth my worried looks, and we will put the lonesome on the shelf_ **

 

“You guys just look so _married!”_ Daisy coos into her webcam a few days later.

 

“Oh, shut up,” Jemma says fondly, head pillowed on Fitz’s shoulder, her new favorite place to be apparently, as he counters with, “Bugger off.”

 

“Do they not? Bobbi, you’re a marriage expert. Back me up here.”

 

“That’s a debatable term,” Hunter interjects. Marriage expert in question chucks a pillow at his head from somewhere off-screen. He doesn’t even flinch, shrugging accommodatingly instead.

 

“Yeah, no, Daze is right,” Bobbi steps into view, squinting at the screen. “I’m kind of overwhelmed with the heart-eyes I’m witnessing right now. It’s radiating off you two.”

 

“Sickening, I’d say,” Hunter mumbles, but mouths, _“Nice going, mate,”_ at Fitz and couples it with a provocative hand gesture to make him blush. Daisy smacks him with the pillow tossed aside.

 

“We can still see you, perv!”

 

“Quit eavesdropping! ‘S rude, you know!”

 

“I’m the one who called them!”

 

“Okay, okay, anyone five foot ten or under in the room needs to sit down!”

 

“Really? The height thing _again?_ ”

 

“Jealously looks good on you, Lance.”

 

 _“Ew,_ gag me with a rusted utensil drawer. Don’t first name him in front of me!”

 

“It’s _one. Bloody. Inch- oW-”_

 

Jemma sighs, laughing at the trio squabbling like children and removes herself from Fitz’s arm, instead lacing her fingers through his. “Guys, _please_ try not to cause too many injuries without me being there to tend to them.”

 

Daisy removes her grip on Lance’s ear to turn back to her momentarily forgotten best friends. “Oh, _god_ you need to hurry back in that case. Lincoln and Bobbi are supposedly taking over, but yesterday Coulson totally waved them off and “fixed up” May’s himself... I love you two, but I’m never going into the lab again.”

“Christ, in _our_ lab?” Fitz cringes.

 

“Oh you’re no saint either, Scotty. That little display wasn’t the only non-science event to happen in there.” Bobbi’s eyes bore into his knowingly. He shoots his girlfriend an expectant look, like _you told her?_ She replies in vague innocence. _You thought I wasn’t going to?_ Fitz opens his mouth to argue but decides halfway through that she’s right, and turns back to the screen. She tilts up, kissing his temple with closure, softening his face to that dopey grin she’s quickly grown so fond of.

 

When Jemma returns to her laptop to the group grinning smugly at her, she tints pink. “What?”

 

“Nothing,” Bobbi chirps. “We’re just happy for you.”

 

“Yeah, with every serious bone in my body, though there isn’t many, you right deserve this.” Hunter adds. Jemma can’t fight her smile.

 

“Especially because you’re so _married_ ,” Daisy bursts cheerily, turning to the blonde. “Sorry, I tried to hold back. I really did.” Bobbi rolls her eyes and pushes her face out of the camera with her palm.

 

They laugh it off through the rest of the call, and Fitz offers to start on dinner, to which she accepts with a soft, slow kiss in the doorway before sending him off on his quest.

 

“My knight in shining oven mitts,” she grins.

 

It doesn’t come up again, but Jemma can’t seem to shake _that word_ from the back of her mind for an entire week.

 

 

-

-

 

 

**_xv. forget the world now we won’t let them see, but there’s one thing left to do_ **

 

“Would you stay out of those? I need an exact amount.”

 

“I don’t think it’s going to hurt us if we’re lacking just a handful,” he says, popping said handful into his mouth.

 

Eye-roll at eighty percent and still loading, Jemma scoots the chocolate chip bag away from him, as if she’s discovered her own Inhuman power of super stretching capabilities to push it out of his reach. “You said the same thing two handfuls ago. The recipe _specifically_ states that-”

 

“Yeah, yeah, I hear you.” He waits for her to turn back to the mixing bowl before he inches towards them again.

 

“Leopold Fitz, I can still see you.”

 

He wavers, halting at the seldom, but always reserved for when he’s being unreasonable, use of his first name, but ultimately decides the sweets are too good to pass up and digs his hand into the sack.

 

His victory is short lived; as soon as he raises his hand to claim his prize, he’s greeted with a cloud of white thrown at his face.

 

Fitz splutters, clearly caught off guard, and the culprit tries very hard to mask her giggling at his bewildered expression with a stern tone.

 

“I _said_ no.” She dusts the flour residue off on her apron and resumes reading the recipe on her tablet.

 

“So _that’s_ how it’s going to be!”

 

“How do you mean? You’re the one lacking a sense of self control!”

 

Wiping the powdery layer off his cheek, he squares his shoulders at her. “That wounds me, Jemma. I’m hurt. Finally get a girlfriend and she goes and claims that I have _no_ _self control.”_ He emphasizes the last few words with the flick of his fingers, sending a sprinkling of flour right in her face. She scoffs, nose crinkling in repulse.

 

 _“Leo,”_ she seethes, frowning. Her eyes flick to the sack to the right of her, meet his, and then back to it again. It’s not unnoticed, causing them to dive for the flour at the same time, elbows clanking and shoulders nudging each other out of the way as they reach to stuff their hands into it, clapping the substance onto any body part they can reach.

 

He scoops out a plentiful heap and throws it in her direction. She reciprocates, ducking behind the island and cackling away. He chases her to either side, resulting in the two of them circling the counter space (cartoon cat and mouse style) before he finally reaches across and grabs her by the wrist, gently tugging her to him and smearing the leftover flour across her cheek.

 

She’s laughing hysterically now, too caught up in the moment to fight any further, and sinks to the floor with her back against the cabinets in surrender. Raising his hands empty hands in truce, he settles beside her and snakes an arm around her waist. He chuckles as she gets the last word by delicately blowing the remainder of her handful in his face.

 

“Hold on, you’ve got a little…” she licks her thumb and rubs the spot of chocolate off the corner of his mouth, and it’s the sheer intimacy of the gesture that causes him to mirror her soft gaze and hold it for a moment as they catch their breaths.

 

Jemma is completely taken aback at how carefree they are. If the owner of the cottage were to drop by for a surprise checkup, he wouldn’t see the dark shadowing under their eyes or the ghosts they drag behind them by ball and chain that have morphed into their personalities and actions. He wouldn’t perceive the scars on her body or the weight on her chest or the worry in his eyes or the tremor in his hand. He wouldn’t see the shells they’ve become. He would see what they are now: two love-struck idiots with burning cheeks from smiling so hard and a lightness in their beings.

 

He would never guess the hell she’s walked through.

 

And looking at Fitz now, even she herself would never believe how broken of a man he was a year ago today if she hadn’t seen it.

 

But here he is, her funny, childish, indescribably brilliant best friend, covered in flour with his hair messy from her fingers lacing through them and the goofiest grin on his face and he’s all _hers_. God, she’s never been more in love with him than this particular moment, when they look ridiculous and breathless and feeling the youngest they’ve been since they were teenagers.

 

And she never wants to lose it.

 

She wants to compact it until it hardens into a pearl and fiercely protect it from harm. She wants to hold it for dear life and never let it go.

 

Curled up with her favorite person in the world in a flour-coated floor, Jemma Simmons knows exactly what she wants. She’s so sure it almost hurts.

 

Cradling his face in her hands and brushing the white powder from beneath his eyes, she kisses him slowly. He matches her perfectly and tastes like chocolate and her heart hammers in her chest when she breaks for air, presses her forehead to his and holds it there.

 

“Marry me, Fitz,” she whispers. She isn’t one bit surprised to hear his breath catch in his throat.

 

“Jemma…” he starts, but she cuts him off with another kiss.

 

“I’m not waiting around for another life or death situation to act on. I want this when things are leisure and nothing is at stake. I want you. And this. Here and now.”

 

He doesn’t speak for a time long enough to make her feel a little self-conscious, but her decision does not budge in the slightest.

 

“Nothing…” he finally whispers back, “nothing would make me happier, Jemma.” She feels the tears form in her eyes and she nods, gesturing for him to continue. “But are you sure this is what you want? This isn’t just the cottage talking?”

 

She shakes her head firmly, nose brushing against his. “I’ve never been so sure in my life.”

 

A grin threatens to split Fitz’s face in half as he takes her hands in his. He strokes his thumbs over her knuckles, gentle and sweet. “Then, yes,” he says. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”

 

“Good,” she replies softly, kisses him slow. “Let’s do this tonight.”

 

 

-

-

 

 

**_xvi. I am right beside you, more than just a partner or a lover; I’m your friend_ **

 

There are only two people in the world that would drop everything to run to a small courthouse late in the evening to witness a spur of the moment marriage in Scotland.

 

“Hey, Mum? Could you do us a favor?” Fitz requests in one frantic phone call, as Jemma asks in another, “Agent May? Are you terribly busy?”

 

They pace around the living room opposite of each other, explaining at rapid speed, occasionally pulling their respective phones away from their face and adding on to something the other says, said other repeating the statement, until they both freeze in the middle.

 

“Great! Oh, thank you _so_ much! We’ll owe you,” Jemma nearly squeaks before hanging up.

 

“Yeah, yeah, okay. Thank you. See you soon,” Fitz says with a happy sigh and mirrors her, grins spreading across their faces in tandem. “We’re really doing this.”

 

Eyes shining, she whispers, “We really are.” Her arms encircle his neck and she stretches up to kiss him tenderly, feeling as though nothing has felt more right in the uncharted history of their energies combined. This moment is fusing together a new sun.

 

-

 

Agatha Fitz arrives first, as expected. She scrambles out of her little car, five-foot-two and a little plump with graying curls woven into a messy braid down her back, and thrusts two baskets into their open arms upon meeting in the courthouse parking lot.

 

“Sorry it took so long; picked up some baked goods on the way.” She scans them over, their beaming faces and clasped hands, breaking out into a big grin. _“Oh,_ you two are just crazy. C’mere.” She throws her arms around both of them, kissing each of their cheeks and rubbing their backs. “I knew it was bound to happen sometime or another! The moment this one here rang me up on his first day of class, just a _gushin’_ about his new beautiful and brilliant lab partner.”

 

 _“Mum,”_ Fitz groans pitifully.

 

“Hush up, son. You’re about to _marry_ the girl; I can recall these embarrassing tales as much as I bloody please.”

 

Much to his relief, it’s not long at all before Melinda strolls in and saves the day. Or Fitz’s face from the blood rush, at least. From where, they’re not sure. They presume one of the planes is cloaked and sitting in an empty clearing somewhere nearby and she just walked.

 

“You’re very lucky we were on a semi-threatening op in Paris.” She says sternly, but her grin fades through.

 

She knows she would’ve come anyway.

 

They know it too.

 

“Oh, I hope it wasn’t too much trouble to leave them with,” Jemma winces.

 

May shakes her head. “Coulson’s got it covered. And Daisy was unsuccessfully trying to jump in front of the Eiffel Tower for a picture when I left, so I think they’ll be okay.”

 

-

 

The ceremony is quick. Not rushed, just brief. They’ve taken long enough to reach this point, after all.

 

It took more than a decade for the stars to align in their favor, to beat the bloody cosmos once and for all. He mentions those exact words in his vows and Jemma lets out a watery laugh, tears in her eyes mirroring his when he gets choked up after, to which she leans her forehead against his to sooth him.

 

She’s just as overwhelmingly happy as he is, and she too has to take a moment to compose herself during her hastily written spill about how their energies have woven in and out of each other’s since the beginning and always will. It’s not factual or testable by any means, but she just _knows_ that it’s true.

 

Much to her surprise, Fitz presents her with a set of identical rings he had made earlier without her knowing, simply using _“Told you I brought some stuff to tinker with,”_ and _“You were taking too long to get ready,”_ as whispered means of explanation. She doesn’t even care how he pulled it off. They sign the marriage license with tears on their cheeks and she kisses him hard, like it’s the only chance she’ll have to. And when they part he kisses her softly, like he has all the time in the world.

 

Agatha is the first to run to them after they’re pronounced man and wife, catching them in a bone-crushing hug and crying on their shoulders.

 

“I should’ve brought my camera,” she whimpers. “It was just so spur of the moment that I didn’t even think…”

 

“Perhaps we’ll renew our vows in a few years!” Jemma suggests brightly. Warmth blooms in Fitz’s stomach at the thought of it.

 

“Yeah, with the team and your family and being pelted with rice and everything. Make a whole day out of it,” he plays, deciding the seriousness of this discussion is for a later day.

 

“Splendid,” she grins. “Keep in touch more, and don’t be strangers while you’re still here!”

 

“Of course.”

 

She leans in closer, barely above a whisper. “Now, once you’ve put a pin in saving the world for a tick, don’t think I’m not expecting grandchildren from the lot of you.”

 

Both beet red, they stutter out their acknowledges to her _very_ typical mother of the groom comment and bid her goodbye, turning to May once she’s made it to her car.

 

“I take it that you’ll be spending a little more time off,” she notes.

 

“If that’s alright, I suppose we will,” Jemma replies. “But really, if we’re needed soon I’m sure we can move things along. I know we’ve been absent for a while now; it shouldn’t take too long to pack ev-”

 

Fitz’s eyes widen to the size of dinner plates and he covers her mouth with his hand before she can reinstate their residence tomorrow. “Jem, stop. She wasn’t serious.”

 

“Oh,” she flushes as May confirms with a nod. “Thank you.”

 

“Don’t mention it.”

 

“Speaking of not mentioning anything,” Jemma toys with the end of her hair. “Is there any way you could keep this between us for now? We’d rather make the announcements ourselves later, and to save us from becoming the latest topic of Playground gossip.”

 

“Because I’m clearly the gossiping type,” she deadpans, but softens. “Your secret’s safe with me.” They thank her with twin bright smiles and she successfully catches them both by surprise when she pulls them into a hug. “Congratulations, you two. I’m honored to have been a part of it.”

 

“Thank you, May,” Fitz says, clearly touched by her actions. “For everything.”

 

-

 

It’s not biologically possible, that’s a fact, but when they make it to their bedroom this time, the atmosphere feels different. Unlike the first few times, they’re not frantic. They don’t rush to the finish line in an explosion of color and sensation behind closed eyes. There isn’t a decade to make up lost time for. This time, it’s leisure. It’s here and now and nothing in between.

 

He takes the time to memorize every detail. Though it isn’t a new sight anymore, he’s still lost to comprehend how stunning she is laying there on the bed. She’s always so stunning it nearly blinds him, but now he sees beyond the white light, like he’s looking at a galaxy through a kaleidoscope.

 

But at one point, his gaze lingers on the scars of her abdomen for a breath too long and she feels self-conscious somewhere in the back of her mind. It shows on her face when he peers up to meet her eyes again.

 

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs quickly to remedy it, bending down to kiss right above her navel. She relaxes a touch.

 

“Thank you, Fitz.” She says back. “It’s just…the scars…”

 

“There’s nothing wrong with them.”

 

“I know, I know, but they just remind me of times I’d rather not think about again.” She glances down at where he’s slowly tracing the ones near his hand. “I try to forget, but they’re just big, ugly reminders.”

 

He frowns, dropping his gaze back to the spider silk lines etched into her body. “What’s this one from?”

 

“Fitz, really-”

 

“Jemma.”

 

She sighs. “When I was tortured.”

 

He takes a shuddering breath, but continues his task. “What about this one?”

 

“I fell trying to climb up a jagged hill. Over there.”

 

“This one?”

 

“Over there again. I was running and tripped, and sliced it on a rock. Had to stitch it up myself.”

 

After a few more, Fitz glides his hand beneath her, stroking at the faded ink, a tasteful and whimsical DNA molecule she’d gotten on a whim right after graduation, masking the scar along on her spine. “And how about this one?”

 

She raises an eyebrow at the change of direction. “That, as you’re well aware, is from my Scoliosis corrective surgery when I was seven.”

 

“Right.” He moves his touch to the underside of her index finger. “And this one?”

 

“When my scalpel slipped and I cut it open, our first semester at the academy.”

 

Nodding, he tugs her hand to a fading scar on his side. “Do you know what this is from?”

 

“When you had appendicitis a few years into Sci-Ops,” Jemma whispers. “I had to drive you to the emergency room. You scared me half to death. When they finally let me in your room after, I was all wound up expecting the worst,” she shakes her head and lets out a laugh, “and you were sitting there, very much awake, complaining about the Jell-O they gave you.”

 

“No one likes orange Jell-O. Why the hell would they serve orange?” He grumbles under his breath, but turns back to her quickly, points to the light scar on his thumb. “Okay, and how about this one?”

 

She caresses it with her own thumb. “That was when you were working on Bashful, and tried to multitask by pestering me at the same time. You lost concentration and sliced it right open.”

 

“And you mended it for me.”

 

“And you almost fainted.”

 

He bumps his forehead against hers affectionately. “Did not.”

 

“Did so.” She kisses him soundly.

 

When they break, he rubs his nose against hers, fingers tracing her hairline. “Point is we all have scars. Big, small, inside, out, and they all carry memories that we can’t forget. We’re human. It’s part of it.” He sweeps his thumb over the tiny scar above her eyebrow for a moment, and then kisses it. “But they’re in the past, and we just started a new chapter. Let’s embrace it, yeah?”

 

Warmth blooms in Jemma’s chest at his words and the tender gaze they share. She leans up to touch his forehead briefly with hers again, arms resuming their earlier hold around his shoulders, before shifting her weight to roll herself over him, bare chests brushing together. He shivers.

 

“Yeah,” she says against his lips. “To a new chapter.”

 

-

 

And later, after his lips have kissed every freckle and his thumb has caressed every new and old scar, and the light scratches she's etched down his back resemble mapped constellations, and galaxies have taken form behind their eyes in concert with sighs and loud heartbeats, they hold one another as though time has frozen them in place right here for an indefinite amount of time.

 

And they just might be okay with that.

 

 

-

-

 

 

**_xvii. would you lie with me and just forget the world?_ **

 

Marriage suits them, they learn early on, not to anyone’s surprise but their own.

 

It’s different than they imagined. Not in so many physical ways as mental. Physically, it’s hardly different than right before, just more kissing and less sexual tension. Mentally, on the other hand, is more complex. It’s the _knowing_ that they’ve bridged every possible gap between them, and that they’re on the same page, that still surprises them. Not having to worry endlessly what’s on the other’s mind and no more hesitation. It’s just feeling and doing. An equal give and take.

 

Perhaps if they had sorted it out long before the world fell on their shoulders, it wouldn’t be so different, but that’s that. It was inevitable nonetheless, so exploring it the long way out is something they’re perfectly content with.

 

“Marriage is like ultimate best friendship,” Fitz declares as they sit under the stars, two months post eloping to the date.

 

“With sex,” Jemma adds brightly. He groans.

 

“You make it sound so unromantic!”

 

“Oh, I’m sorry.” She extracts his fingers from where they’re weaving through her ponytail, and promptly drapes herself across his lap, hand thrown over her forehead for dramatic effect. “With _love making_ so _passionate_ it feels like _the fourth of July_ most _every time_ _we’re intimate in bed_.” She peeks at his face through her fingers. “Better?”

 

“Just the bed?” He challenges.

 

“And the sofa. And the kitchen counter. And that one time we- you know, _you’re_ the one taking the romance out of this, not me.”

 

“What? Is sex only considered romantic in a bedroom?”

 

“Theoretically, yes,” she explains. “It’s considered to be more thought out and passionate, while the other locations, as _wonderful_ as they are, tend to be more frantic and at a moment’s notice.”

 

He nods. “Huh. Interesting.”

 

Jemma grins contently and turns back to the night sky, considerably startled when he tackles her against the grass. _“Fitz!”_ she cries, but he captures her lips with his own and she giggles against his mouth until his tongue slides against hers and it’s soft moans instead. It works in his favor for a moment, until he starts creeping his fingers beneath her shirt and she bats them away.

 

 _“Leo Fitz._ We are _not_ having _sex outside_ in the _grass_.”

 

“Why? ‘Cause it’s not _romantic?”_

 

“ _No,_ because it’s _impractical.”_

“Says the woman who pounced on me in the kitchen only yesterday!” Fitz rolls his eyes and she swats at his face gently, pushing him off and sitting up next to him.

 

“There’s a difference. Grass is uncomfortable. And there are insects.” He pouts at her explanation. Jemma pokes his cheek. “Just kiss me, you big dork.” He doesn’t have to be told twice.

 

He pulls away after a moment, taking in the sight of her. It’s dark from the night sky, but she’s glowing from head to toe. He says it a lot these days, but honestly thinks she’s never looked more beautiful than right now, in his sweats she’s claimed as her own pajamas and grass in her hair and shining eyes.

 

And so, _so_ carefree.

 

Which brings Fitz back to a thought he had earlier, and he can’t stop his mouth from opening. “We’ll have to go back at some point.”

 

She agrees. “They need us.”

 

“Have you…” he scratches the back of his neck, uncomfortable. “Have you thought about when you’d like to? Not that I have, I just…yeah.”

 

Her eyes falter, silently wishing they could stay in this little haven forever, but she knows better. They swore an oath. They have a duty. They have another life they can’t quite say goodbye to yet.

 

They have a world to save. “We’ll go back at end of the month.”

 

“Okay,” is all he says.

 

“I know we’re happy here,” Jemma twirls the ring on his finger before doing the same to her own, “but at least we’ll have each other?”

 

“That we do,” he whispers. “You’re my best friend in the world.”

 

“You’re my best friend in any world,” she says back. She kisses him then, slowly and softly, under the millions of stars arguably shining just for them. She takes her time as though they have too much of it to spare.

 

His eyelids flutter when she pulls away from one of the most tender kisses they’ve exchanged, smile wide and dopey. That expression is slowly becoming one of her favorites, as she’s the only one capable of drawing it out of him.

 

“Hey, Fitz?” she says after a beat.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“You do realize I said we’re not having sex outside _in the grass_ , right?”

 

He splutters, clearly caught of guard. “What?”

 

Giving him a mischievous smirk that Fitz has learned will get him into trouble every single time he sees it, she eyes the front porch. “However, there is a perfectly useful lounge chair straight ahead looking _incredibly_ lonesome at this hour.”

 

 

-

-

 

 

**_xviii. my heart finally trusts my mind, and I know somehow it’s right_ **

 

Fitz clenches his jaw and balls his fists in frustration, cartoon steam nearly rolling out of his ears in a thick, angry fog.

 

“Are you even listening to me?!” She demands, just as irritated as he.

 

“Uh, yeah. Loud and clear actually since you’re _shouting._ ”

 

Jemma gives him her best death glare before rolling her eyes into seemingly another dimension, a record on her part. “I’m just _saying-”_

“Or _screaming-”_

She ignores him, “-that we should just stay here tonight!”

 

“Like we’ve done every bloody night! Let’s do something different for a change!”

 

“We’ve been here for _four and a half months_ , Fitz! We’ve been to nearly _every_ restaurant and walked every street corner in all the surrounding towns! We won’t be here much longer anyway, I don’t see why we can’t simply stay in!”

 

“And then what? Go back to being cooped up in the base for the next however long? I say we enjoy the freedom while we have it!”

 

It started as harmless bickering, it really did, even involving three rounds of roshambo early on. But somehow in the process it had snowballed tremendously, so much that they’re standing on opposite sides of the living room, blue in the face and shaking with rage.

 

After a few more exchanges of shouting, Jemma throws her hands up and storms off to their bedroom, slamming the door behind her.

 

“Great,” Fitz mutters, kicking the side of the sofa. He’d only wanted to do something _nice_ for her, for crying out loud. It’s not _his_ fault she had to go and…

 

He pauses. What were they even fighting about at that point? Does it really _matter_ where they go? Or was it the matter of the last word being just out of reach that spurred them on?

 

Wow, domesticity must have really taken hold of the both of them in the past few months.

 

And they _are_ running short on time left here in their quiet haven, when there’s a whole world of places to see together and plenty of time for it…

 

Groaning, he reaches for his tablet and scrolls through the music.

 

He’s got to fix this.

 

-

Jemma is still in the process of defusing when she hears the door creak open behind her. She makes no note of acknowledgment of his arrival, instead keeping her focus purely on the sunset outside her window. He’s not going to get off _that_ easily.

 

She ignores the soft glide of his arms wrapping around her middle from behind, even letting out a small huff for good measure when his chin rests on her shoulder.

 

“M’sorry,” he mumbles.

 

“Mhmm,” she snarks back.

 

“I shouldn’t have been so pushy.”

 

She scoffs quietly, resisting the urge to lean back into him.

 

“And you were right.”

 

That gets her attention. “Go on.”

 

Rolling his eyes, he lifts his head to press a kiss where his chin had been. “And you’re the smarter one of the two of us.” He adds another closer to her neck.

 

She tilts her head slightly, granting him more access. “Keep going.”

 

“And the prettier one.” A kiss lands on her throat.

 

“No argument there.” Fitz cracks a smile and his scruff tickles her skin, to which she squirms and tries to fight back her own.

 

He brushes the loose strands of hair behind her ear and hums lightly against the skin beneath it, earning another shiver, eyes fluttering shut. “And I love you,” he whispers sincerely.

 

At that, Jemma sighs and finally puts him out of his misery, turns her head to face him and see the fondness shining in his eyes. “I love you too.” He tries not to show it, she can tell, but he visibly relaxes at the confirmation. “I wouldn’t have married you if I didn’t, Fitz.”

 

“I know, lucky me.” He grins, kissing her temple. “Now c’mon.”

 

“What?”

 

He doesn’t answer, much to her frustration, and she’s about to make a point to how his refusal to consider her side is what started the fuss in the first place, but instead, he leads her back to the living room by the arm around her waist.

 

“Fitz,” she breathes, panning around the area in which he’s moved the furniture out of the way and left an open space right in the center of the room. A lighthearted, upbeat tune plays from the dock.

 

_“We’re on top of the world, we’re on top of the world now, darling so don’t let go…”_

“Dance with me?” he offers, extending a hand out to her.

 

She raises an eyebrow. “You _hate_ dancing. You always say you look like a phasmid when you dance.”

 

“I also hate noisy restaurants and busy intersections,” Fitz deadpans, and she laughs at his admission of earlier defeat. “So, dance with me instead.”

 

Blushing deeply at his affection, she humors him, winding her arms around his neck as they sway. They’re way off beat, she steps on his toes twice, and he clumsily dips her a little too far and has to stumble to right her, but they’re giggling like children and goofily waltz around the room like there’s no place they would rather be.

 

He starts singing along softly at the bridge as he twirls her around, her ponytail lightly swatting him in the face, and Jemma’s cheeks burn from smiling. She’s always loved his voice.

 

Before she even knows it, she’s singing too.

 

_“You’re my bright blue sky…”_

_“You’re the sun in my eyes…”_

_“Baby you’re my life, you’re the reason why…”_

 

She leans her forehead against his to catch her breath and grin lazily up at him when the song slows, stilling their uncoordinated turns and steps.

 

“Guess we can say we’ve officially had our most pointless argument to date, now,” Fitz says, tapping her nose to make her face scrunch up.

 

“Hmm, no, not the _most_ pointless,” she counters. He squints in confusion. “Are you forgetting the iconic wizardry debate of 2010?”

 

Fitz groans, dropping his head to her shoulder. “That was _hardly_ an argument. That was brutal combat. But with words.”

 

“Whatever you say,” she leans in and murmurs, _“Dumbledore,”_ against his lips.

 

“Gandalf,” he grumbles bitterly when they separate, but twirls her around again nonetheless.

 

_“Will you love me forever? I’ll love you forever. Be my forever…”_

 

 

-

-

 

 

**_xix. hope is just a ray of what everyone should see, alone is the street where you found me_ **

 

“Jemma?”

 

“Hmm?”

 

“You’re zoning out on me again.”

 

“Sorry, what? No I’m not!”

 

With nearly twelve years of partnership as well as companionship to back him up, Fitz is fairly confident that he knows when his best friend is up to something. She’s grown subtler about it more recently, true, but he _knows_ that face and body language as well as he knows the interior path to his childhood room, or the page number of his favorite chapter in a treasured book. It’s an unconscious sort of knowing.

 

Which is why he _knows_ the fact that he’s beating her at Scrabble isn’t because he is suddenly and uncharacteristically superior at vocabulary. “What’s up?”

 

“Nothing, it’s fine,” she says. “I’m just thinking.”

 

“Yeah, and burning a hole in the alphabet while you’re at it. What about?”

 

A light blush fades into existence on her cheeks, modest smile in tact. “Our time at the academy.”

 

“Oh?” he asks, surprised.

 

“How different do you think it would be had we figured all of this out back then?”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

She sighs dreamily. “Hypothetically, what if we had recognized how we felt, say, oh I don’t know…the end of our first year? Long enough after you stopped hating me, of course, but-”

 

His eyebrows shoot to the ceiling as he frantically swats at her hands, caught very much off guard. “Whoa, whoa, what do you mean when I _stopped hating_ you? I’ve never hated you!”

 

“Oh, Fitz,” she squeezes his flailing hands with hers and tilts her head, voice thick with fondness. “It’s been over a decade, and I’m very much aware of your feelings now. I’m not going to be hurt by you admitting it!”

 

“No, but you need to understand. Jemma; I’ve never hated you. I could _never_ hate you.”

 

She frowns. “Come on, you didn’t speak to me at all before we were paired up. Hell, it still took you two weeks to say anything even after!”

 

Glancing at their still clasped hands, Fitz treads back to his thoughts during this simpler time. “I was so lonely, back before we met,” he explains. “Wasn’t very good at socializing, kept to myself too much, shut a lot of people out. I felt like, I dunno, no one would ever understand a quiet, pasty kid with a brain too big to keep up with. Even at the academy I felt as though I stuck out like a sore thumb.”

 

The stunned silence presents him with the itch to continue. “That is, until I heard about you.” He gives her a kind smile. “I always knew we’d get on, both in similar situations and all, so I really, _really_ wanted to be friends.”

 

“Why didn’t you say anything then?” Jemma asks, voice wavering.

 

“I, um,” he bows his head bashfully. “You were so brilliant and beautiful, I… _are_ brilliant and beautiful, sorry. Of course you still are. Yeah, no but thinking about it now I could see how my actions could’ve easily been misread,” he sighs, gathering himself. “I wanted to make a good first impression, you know? I just never could think of something clever enough to say to you, until I finally did.”

 

Their hands are still clasped when he finishes, and the amount of pure adoration on her face sends a pulse of warmth through his veins, squeezes at his heart. It’s his new favorite look on her.

 

“God, _Fitz,”_ she mumbles, leaning over the table to press a lingering kiss right on his forehead, adding a second pulse. “And here I was, seventeen and assuming we were _rivals_ , far too competitive for my own good.” Jemma shakes her head at the absurdity. “You must have been _so_ annoyed-”

 

“Never,” he says, throat tight.

 

She peers down at the game board, breaking their eye contact. Neither knowing where to go from there, they ease back into the game comfortably for a few rounds.

 

“That’s not _all_ I was thinking about, you know.”

 

“Yeah?” Fitz grins.

 

“I have to tell you something, and I’m not sure how you’ll react.” He notes the seriousness in her voice and puts down the handful of letters he’d picked up before she spoke.

 

“Jemma?”

 

She takes a deep, shaky breath before looking him in the eye. “I…I made an offer on the cottage.”

 

Fitz is not really sure what he was expecting her to say (maybe somewhere in the back of his mind he knows exactly what he _wanted_ her to say) but the relevance of his train of thought dissipates as his jaw drops. “You _what?”_

“Well you said the owner was wanting to sell it, to say we’ve grown quite fond of this place over the past five months is a great understatement, and we’ve already sort of mutually decided this is where we’d like to be one day when we’re not off saving the world and whatnot,” she shrugs, a shy smile on her face. “So, I said fuck it and made an offer. I’m still waiting to hear back from him, though.”

 

He blinks slowly, jaw still hanging open while he tries to process every word she just said, and then beams at her. “This is going to be _ours?”_

 

“Well, like I’ve said, it’s not set in stone. But I don’t see many others lining up outside for it, so I think there’s a relatively high cha- _oh!”_ He successfully catches her by surprise when he tugs her to his spot on the floor, causing her to tumble into his lap as he presses a searing kiss to her lips. She melts against him instantly.

 

“This is going to be _ours_ ,” Fitz repeats a few moments later, winding his arms around her waist, hugging her back to his chest. She wiggles to where she’s seated on him more comfortably and plants a kiss in hair. Then she starts teasingly toying with his belt buckle and he doesn’t speak after that.

 

 

-

-

 

 

_**xx.** _ **_**y** ou can hear it in the silence, you can feel it on the way home, you can see it with the lights out_ **

 

“Can’t we just leave everything here?” Fitz groans. “The house is ours now; no need to pack up everything unnecessarily.”

 

“That may be true,” Jemma says casually, trying to hold back the butterflies taking flight inside at the reminder and keep a stern tone. “But retirement, though premature in our case, is still a ways off, you know. And I’ve grown accustom to having a wide variety of clothing choices again.” He peers into the only half-packed closet and groans again, collapsing facedown on the bed next to the box he’s been working on for a while now.

 

They were planning on leaving soon anyway, but upon receiving a rather urgent call from Coulson earlier, featuring May and Daisy trying to interject their own opinions of the importance of the matter at hand and the trio quarrelling on speaker (not unlike a long time married couple and their highly argumentative adult daughter) until someone, Mack presumably, silenced them with a booming voice, Jemma and Fitz agreed to come back early. Duty calls, after all.

 

(She did, however, manage to convince the director to give them a few more hours to say goodbye to the little cottage and adjust back into working again. It might have had something to do with the promise of looking over the details as soon as they made it on the plane to get a head start, or maybe it was her warm, persuasive, innocent sounding tone that shoved him over. Coulson has always held a soft spot for his favorite double doctorate scientist.)

 

“It doesn’t have to be too far off. There’s a perfectly good spare room down the hall that could make an excellent home lab.”

 

She laughs. “Oh, a home lab is a _definite_ yes. I don’t think we’ll be able to sit still for that long. But…” her voice trails off and heat pools in her stomach at her next thought. She nonchalantly looks away from him. “There are _other_ uses for a spare bedroom.”

 

He makes a content noise into the comforter, remaining there until the unsaid sinks in. At that, he abruptly jerks his head up, eyes wide. “Jem? Is…is there something you’re trying to tell me?”

 

Her brown eyes match his in diameter. “Oh _lord_ , no.” He relaxes, but her heart skips a beat when she catches the slightest glimpse of disappointment in his expression and suddenly the image of seeing little Simon grabbing at his cheeks when he made faces at him makes a guest appearance in the back of her mind. “One day, though,” she adds, voice soft and sure.

 

“Yeah?” Fitz smiles stupidly.

 

“Yeah,” she cards her fingers through his hair, and he all but purrs at the gesture. Grinning, she drops a kiss there and moves back to her task. “Come on, you lump. We have to meet May at the clearing in three hours and we’re only half way done at most.”

 

Jemma offers him her hand to pull him up, but squawks in surprise when he tugs her down to him instead. “Fitz! I’m serious!”

 

“I know, I know,” his arms twist around her waist. “Just…two minutes. Please.”

 

Never one to refuse quality cuddling, she sighs in defeat and curls into his chest, presses a kiss over his heart.

 

“I’m gonna miss this place,” Fitz murmurs.

 

“Our place,” she corrects him. Even when it starts to sound like a broken record, she’ll never grow tired of reminding him of that fact.

 

“Our place,” he echoes affectionately.

 

“Maybe next time we drop by we’ll do some redecorating.”

 

“Hmm, why’s that?”

 

She raises an eyebrow at him and darts her sightline to the closest wall. _“Our place_ is beautiful, don’t get me wrong, but the stripes are just a liiiiittle outdated, wouldn’t you say?”

 

“I dunno,” he says, voice dripping with sarcasm. “I rather like the vintage aesthetic.”

 

“You say vintage aesthetic, I say prehistoric circus tent.”

 

“Potāto, potäto.”

 

Jemma giggles and he kisses her hair, chuckling lightly himself. She can tell he’s reveling in the sound of it, the way he holds her closer, fingers grazing her side not hard enough to tickle, but to keep the hearty sensation going.

 

“You’re my best friend,” he whispers, pausing his movements.

 

“You say that a lot.”

 

“I think it a lot.”

 

Tilting her head up, she pecks his nose and beams at him. “I think it a lot too.”

 

It’s well over two minutes when they finally rise again, but she doesn’t mind.

 

-

 

Two and a half hours later, Fitz is loading the final box into the car, and Jemma can’t seem to take her eyes off the house.

 

“You alright?” he calls when he’s finished, rousing her from her thoughts.

 

“What? Yes, I’m fine.” She flashes him a smile as he approaches, and the two of them peer up at the cottage for a long while. “I’m really going to miss this place,” she murmurs.

 

“We’ve had this conversation many times today,” he points out.

 

“Yeah,” she agrees, relaxing her head on his shoulder. “We did a good thing here, you and I, didn’t we?”

 

He smirks. “We did a lot of good things, actually.” She swats at his chest.

 

“You know what I mean.” Jemma leaves a lingering kiss on his jaw, and another on his cheek as his eyes flutter shut at the feeling. “Thank you.”

 

“Hmm?”

 

“For all of this, for being here, for going there, for standing by me through everything, even at the worst of it.” She beams up at him. “You’ve been so supportive, and so patient, and I…I don’t know what I did to deserve you. But I’m so grateful for it.”

 

“Yeah,” Fitz hums. “I mean, me too. Me you.” He winces. “Sorry. Still not good at this.”

 

Amused at his rambling, she kisses the corner of his mouth, whispering against it, “I love you too.”

 

“That’s it, yeah. I love you. A lot _. God,_ I love you, Jemma Simmons. I’m _so_ in love with you.” He grazes the band on her fourth finger and he smiles.

 

“Well I would hope so,” she teases. “Because these are lovely, but they would make _pretty_ intricate platonic friendship rings. People might talk, you know.”

 

“Oh! And that reminds me,” he says, swiping his thumb across her cheek before removing his touch altogether and instead fishing for an object in his pocket. “Made you something.” He opens his palm to reveal a small chain, elegantly made by his own hand, she can tell just by looking at it.

 

“It’s beautiful, Fitz, but what’s this for?” she asks, confused.

 

Pinching the strand between his fingers and holding it up to give her a better view, he explains, “It’s the same cross-material as our rings: virtually indestructible and very tasteful, if I do say so myself.” He tugs out his own matching chain from where it was tucked under his collar. “Thought maybe when we get back, since you know, identical wedding bands could be dangerous when in the field, we could wear them on these.”

 

“To keep each other safe,” she breathes. He nods, about to continue prattling off information about the specs on it, but Jemma rises on tiptoe to brush her nose against his briefly and silences him with a languid kiss, right in the middle of the sidewalk. She’s grinning dazedly when they part.

 

“And I’ll bet they will keep a few nosy agents from breathing down our necks for a while too,” she whispers fondly.

 

He chuckles, kissing her hand. “I wonder how long it’ll take them to put it together.”

 

She lets out her own laugh that ends in a sigh. Taking one last look at their past/future home, fully and comfortingly aware that they’ll be back before they know it, she leans into his half embrace tucked under his arm. She winds her own around his waist before they stroll down the driveway together.

 

 

-

-

 

 

+

It takes approximately four days.

“ _Married?_ Are you _kidding_ me??” their friend exclaims for the third time in a row, adding more and more emphasis with every repeat.

 

Jemma buries her face in her arms folded on the counter, beyond ready for this seemingly endless conversation to be over. Fitz presses a kiss on the top of her head from where he’s standing next to her chair and she hums unintelligibly in response, kind of.

 

“We left you two alone for _five months,”_ Bobbi reminds them. _“Five_. And not only did you work out all of your issues and get together, but got engaged, got fucking _married_ , and bought a house to live in when you retire!”

 

“Without. Telling. _Me_.” Daisy adds in a shriek.

 

“Technically we eloped,” Fitz points out, but she throws her hands up at him nonetheless. He sighs, quickly choosing not to mention the fact that another member of the team witnessed the occasion.

 

“I’m offended. Truly. I thought we were friends! I thought we were _best_ friends.” Jemma moves like she’s going to lift her head to speak, but the hacker is on a spiral, so she lays it back down and groans. “I’m just…married?? Are you _kidding me.”_

 

“Could I be the first to say I was definitely expecting this?” Hunter states. “And I, for the record, am happy for them?”

 

Jemma raises her head triumphantly. “Finally! A genuine, humanly decent reaction!” She beams in his direction and he raises his beer in salute, muttering something along the lines of _so this bloody soap opera can finally suffer series cancelation_ into his next sip after she’s turned away. She gives him the finger behind her back.

 

“Oh don’t get me wrong, I’m _so_ happy. I’ve been waiting for this for almost four years! Behind this angry tone I am _exploding_ with joy and I already have a list of questions going for each of you. Separately.” Daisy gives them a meaningful smile for a few seconds before returning to her scowl. “I just can’t _believe_ you didn’t tell me! I could have been there! I could have planned everything and you wouldn’t have to worry! Think about the boss ass reception we could’ve had! When’s the last time any of us went to a decent, non-mission related party? And I-”

 

Rolling her eyes, Bobbi clamps her hand over her mouth before it gets any worse. “ _O_ -kay rein it in, leave the lovebirds alone.” She pauses, then adds, “For now, at least. We’ll interrogate them later. Separately.”

 

Jemma sighs, squinting up at her husband. “Why did we come back again?”

 

“Because you love us,” Hunter answers for him. “We’re irresistible, I know.”

 

“That’s debatable,” she replies as Fitz mutters, “Still haven’t unpacked everything; we could make a run for it.” She grins, tilts her head a bit to signal wanting a kiss. He leans down to drop a quick peck on her lips and when they part she’s smiling so wide and wholeheartedly that the team groans simultaneously.

 

“Ugh, go be cute somewhere else. I’d like to proper finish this drink without the nausea.”

 

“Oh, but Hunter,” she says smugly, “You’re all so irresistible!”

 

 

-

-

**Author's Note:**

> alternatively titled: the one where Shay writes entirely too much cuddling and too little plot.
> 
> If you actually read every word of this I cannot express my gratitude :') if you would like to reblog this along with its cover art, it's here: http://jemmaswan.tumblr.com/post/139565606789
> 
> Please let me know what you think!


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